CHAPTER VI
When Heriot informed his brother of his approaching marriage, Sir Francis said, "I never offer advice to a man on matters of this sort"; and proceeded to advise. He considered the union undesirable, and used the word.
Heriot replied, "On the contrary, I desire it extremely."
"You're of course the best judge of your own affairs. I'll only say that it is hardly the attachment I should have expected you to form. It appears to me—if I may employ the term—romantic."
"I should say," said Heriot, in his most impassive manner, "that that is what it might be called. Admitting the element of romance, what of it?"
"We are not boys, George," said Sir Francis. He added, "And the lady is twenty-two! The father is an hotel-keeper in the United States, you tell me, and the aunt lives in Wandsworth. Socially, Wandsworth is farther than the United States, but geographically it is close. This Mrs. Payne—or Baynes—is not a connection you will be proud of, I take it?"
"I shall be very proud of my wife," said Heriot, with some stiffness. "There are more pedigrees than happy marriages."
The Baronet looked at his watch. "As I have said, it's not a matter that I would venture to advise you upon. Of course I congratulate you. We shall see Miss Cheriton at Sandhills, I hope? and—er—Catherine will be delighted to make her acquaintance. I have to meet Phil at the Club. He's got some absurd idea of exchanging—wants to go out to India, and see active service. And I got him into the Guards! Boys are damned ungrateful.... When do you marry?"
"Very shortly—during the vacation. There'll be no fuss."