“It was Roger, most likely,” Hester rejoined. “Like the good boy he is, he got up about twelve, or thereabouts, and stayed up the rest of the night with me and Magdalen.”
“Oh-h,” Mrs. Irving replied, and her eyes had in them a puzzled look as she left Hester’s room and repaired to the breakfast table.
“Hester tells me that you spent the night with her, or with Magdalen,—which was it?” she said to Roger playfully, as she leisurely sipped her cup of coffee.
There was no reason why Magdalen should have colored scarlet as she did, or why Roger should stammer and seem so confused as he replied, “Yes, Hester was very restless, and Magdalen very tired, and so I stayed with them.”
“And proved a very efficient watcher, it seems; for Hester is better and Magdalen as blooming as a rose,” was Mrs. Irving’s next remark, as she shot a quick, curious glance at Magdalen, whose burning cheeks confirmed her in the suspicion which until that morning had never entered her mind.
Magdalen cared for Roger, and Roger cared for Magdalen, and at last she had the key to Magdalen’s refusal of her son.
Mrs. Irving had heard from Frank of his ill success, and while expressing some surprise, had told him not to despair, and had promised to do what she could for the furtherance of his cause. It was no part of her plan to speak to Magdalen then upon the subject, but she was more than usually kind and affectionate in her manner towards the girl, hoping that by this means the mother might succeed where the son had failed. Now, however, an unlooked-for obstacle had arisen, and for once Mrs. Walter Scott was uncertain what to do. She had never dreamed that Roger might fancy Magdalen, he was so much older and seemed to care so little for women; but she was sure now that he did, and the hundred thousand dollars she had looked upon as eventually sure seemed to be fading from her grasp. There were wrinkles in her forehead when she left the breakfast table, and her face wore a kind of abstracted look, as if she were intently studying some new device or plan. It came to her at last, and when next she was alone with Frank, she said, “I have been thinking that it might be well for you to get Roger’s consent for you to address Magdalen.”
“Roger’s consent!” Frank repeated, in some surprise. “I should say Magdalen’s consent was of more consequence than Roger’s.”
“Yes, I know,” and the lady smiled meaningly. “You said to me once that you loved Magdalen well enough to take her on any terms, and wait for the affection she withholds from you now.”
“Yes, I said so; but what of it?” Frank asked; and his mother replied, “I think I know Magdalen better than you do. She has implicit confidence in Roger’s judgment, and an intense desire to please him. Let her once believe he wishes her to marry you, and the thing is done. At least, it is worth the trial, and I would speak to Roger without delay and get his consent. Or stay,” she added, as she reflected that Frank would probably make a bungle and let out that Magdalen had refused him once, “I will do it for you. A woman knows so much better what to say than a man.”