"What you have got to do, Emmy, is to think of the future," he was saying, scooping all the visible eggs out of an aspic pie. "It's no manner of use living only in the present. You think this comfortable home will go on for ever, where you have lived in luxury. It won't. It can't. It's not in the nature of things. I saw Blackett yesterday (Blackett was the doctor), and he told me that if the governor's gout rises—and nothing he can do can keep it down—he won't last more than a year at longest. In the nature of things," Uncle Tom continued, bolting half an egg, "I shall then marry. In fact—in short——"
"Has Miss Collett accepted you?" said Aunt Emmy tremulously.
Miss Collett was a person of means, and of somewhat bulged attractions for those who admire size, of whom Uncle Tom had often spoken as a deuced fine woman.
"She has," said Uncle Tom. "I made pretty sure of that before I said anything myself. Nothing immediate, you understand; but eventually—when the old governor goes—I don't want to hurry him, Lord knows; but when the old man does pop off, I shall—bring her here."
I looked round the room. I had seen Miss Collett, and the mahogany and ormolu dining-room, with its great gilt mirrors, seemed a fitting background for her.
"I am very glad, dear Tom," said Aunt Emmy. "I think you and she will be very well suited, and I am sure she is very lucky, though I suppose I should never think any one quite good enough."
"Oh! that's all right," said Uncle Tom. "And as for the luck, it's all on my side."
He did not really think this, I knew, but it was the right thing to say, so he said it.
"But I am not thinking only of myself," he continued. "There is you to be considered."
Aunt Emmy dropped her eyes.