“About Mr. Nugent—yes. I confess I was very much surprised.”
“So was I—so I am still!” said the Major—“I don’t know what to say about it. You see, Letty, it’s this way. Max Nugent’s father was the biggest rascal that ever died unhanged. He made his wealth by fraud—and thank goodness, he killed himself by overeating! This young man, his only son, may be a very good fellow—but he has nothing to be proud of in his ancestry, and he has seen a great deal of the worst side of the world. He has lived his own life in Paris, Petersburg and Vienna, and I doubt—I doubt whether he would make such a simple, unsophisticated little girl as Violet, happy. I told him so plainly. He came to me to-day, and talked very eloquently—and I must say very well. I explained to him that his wealth was simply monstrous and appalling,—positively vulgar, in fact. He said he knew it was, but he could not help it. Which of course he can’t!”
Miss Letty laughed.
“Poor man! Are you not a little hard on him, Dick?”
The Major sipped his cobbler with a relish. His brows were clear,—the gentle presence of Miss Letty was already doing him good.
“I think not—I hope not!” he answered—“I told him just what I felt about it. I said that his money was a disgrace, because it had been gotten together by fraud. He admitted it. He offered to endow hospitals, free libraries, and build all sorts of benevolent institutions,—educate poor children, and encourage deserving beggars all round, if I let him marry Violet——”
“Well!”
“Well—I don’t like it,” said the Major very emphatically—“I tell you plainly, I don’t like it! There’s just a something about Nugent that I don’t quite trust!”
Miss Letty looked grave.
“If you really feel like that, Dick——” she began.