“My dear Jack, that girl is destined for suffering—of that kind; small social stings, the sense of the contrast between her surroundings and those of other girls no better born, only better off.”
“She will marry and forget these evil days,” said Vansittart.
“Let us hope so; but let us hope that she will not marry you.”
“Why should you—or any one—hope that?”
“Because it ain’t good enough, Jack; believe me, it ain’t. She is a sweet girl—but her father’s character is the opposite of sweet. Hubert has made inquiries, and has been told, by men on whose good faith he can rely, that the Colonel is a black-leg; that there is hardly any dishonourable act that a man can do, short of felony, which Colonel Marchant has not done. He is well known in London, where he spends the greater part of his time. He is a hanger-on of rich young men. He shows them life. He wins their money—and like that other hanger-on, the leech, he drops away from them when he is gorged and they are empty. Can you choose the daughter of such a man for your wife?”
“I can, and do choose her, above all other women; and if she is as pure and true as I believe her to be, I shall ask her to be my wife. The more disreputable her father, the gladder I shall be to take her away from him——”
“And when her father is your father-in-law how will you deal with him?”
“Leave that problem to me. I am not an idiot, or a youth fresh from the University. I shall know how to meet the difficulty.”
“You will not have that man at Merewood, Jack,” cried Maud, excitedly, “to loaf about my mother’s garden—the garden that is hers now—and to play cards in my mother’s drawing-room?”
“You are running on very fast, Maud. No; if I marry Eve Marchant be assured I shall not keep open house for her father. He has not been so good a parent as to make his claim indisputable.”