"Nay, I am well content!" answered Master Penrose. "My wants are few, and if Mistress Rosamond will let me live where I have lived so long, I shall not trouble her many years."
My mother looked at me, and made me a sign to speak; and though I was so covered with confusion that I could hardly find words, I did manage to say that, so far as I had any voice in the matter, I hoped Master Penrose would always make my aunt's house his home. Then Master Penrose kissed my hand and made me a pretty old-fashioned compliment; and I was so confused and stunned with it all, that I think, like a fool, I should have burst out crying, only that my mother, seeing my trouble, came to my aid and rose from the table.
"We will leave you to talk over matters by yourselves," said she, courteously. "Rosamond is somewhat overcome, and no wonder."
When I was alone with my Lady, I soon recovered myself. She does not like to have me weep, and I am learning self-control. We talked the matter over, and I said what I felt; that I could not think my aunt had done right—that she should have made Master Penrose her heir, and not a stranger, whom she had never even seen.
"People, even very good people, often make very strange and unjust wills," said my Lady; and with that she sighed somewhat sadly. "But we will not conclude that your aunt's will is of this kind, till we know something more of the circumstances. She may have had good reasons for the arrangement. You heard what your father said about Master Penrose, that though a good manager for others, he could never keep too groats together for himself. Some notion of this kind may have governed my old Lady Tremador in leaving him only an annuity."
"I am sorry about this, for one reason," said I, presently. "People will say I chose a secular life, because I had this fortune left me."
My mother smiled. "Shall I tell you a motto I saw once in Scotland?" said she. "'Twas graven over a door, and ran thus—'They haf said—What said they? Let them say!' 'Twas an odd motto for such a place, was it not? But it may serve well enough for us. Many things will be said about your choice, without doubt, but what matter? Let them say."
"Yet one cannot be indifferent to what folks say of one," quoth I: "and I hardly know if it is right to be so."
"It is not right to be so indifferent as to provoke comment needlessly," answered my Lady; "but when we know that we have done right, we must be content to leave the rest."
My Lady then saying that I looked weary, sent me to bed, and I saw our guest no more that night.