"Vevette's market is already made," said my mother, smiling, though I could see she was annoyed. "You know it was an old family compact that she is to marry her cousin Andrew, and both the young folks are well suited therewith."
"Andrew Corbet! Why, he is not even a captain, and the estate at Tre Madoc cannot be worth more than four hundred a year all told," said my uncle. "Besides, unless he abandons his profession, the child will be a widow without any of the advantages of widowhood. There, I beg your pardon, Meg. I did not mean to hurt you."
My mother made no reply, but began to ask after other members of the family—the Stantons and Corbets of Devonshire.
"Oh, poor Walter is dead of the plague, and his young wife also! He married a girl young enough to be his daughter, and a great beauty, but neither of them lived long."
"I thought his wife was that Margaret Matou, who lived at the court with the former Lady Stanton," said my mother.
"Yes, she was his first wife, and a charming creature, I must say, though not handsome; but the second was quite different. However, she died, poor thing, and left no children, so the old house stands empty at present."
"There was a daughter, was there not?"
"Yes, she lives with Mr. Evelyn, her guardian, who is bringing her up in his strait-laced fashion."
"To be a companion to his pattern Mrs. Godolphin," said his wife, laughing.
"He might do worse," returned my uncle. "But come, sister d'Antin, make up your mind to leave your daughter with us for her education. I assure you she will have every care and advantage of masters, and we will make her a girl you shall be proud of."