“Take what time you please, Mr Woolet; our drive had no object—a little shopping affair of my daughter’s, that can be disposed of at any hour. Please be seated.”
The lawyer took a chair; the lady sank into a couch.
“Something, I suppose, connected with the cottage?” she continued in a tone of studied indifference. “I think the rent is paid up to—”
“Oh, nothing of that,” interrupted the lawyer. “You are too punctual in your payments, Mrs Mainwaring, to need reminding from me. I have come upon an affair that, indeed, now that I think of it, may look like interference on my part. But it is one that may be of importance, and, studying your interest as my client, I deem it my duty to interfere. I hope, if in error, you will not be offended by my apparent over-zeal.”
The widow opened her eyes, once beautiful enough, but now only expressive of surprise. The manner of the attorney, his tone of confidence—of an almost friendly assurance—led her to look for some pleasant revelation. What could it be?
“Over-zeal on your part can never be offensive, Mr Woolet—at least, not to me. Please let me know what you have to communicate. Whether it concern me or not, I promise you it shall have my full consideration, and such response as I can give.”
“First, Mrs Mainwaring, I must ask a question that from any other might be deemed impertinent. But you have done me the honour to trust me as your legal adviser, and that must be my excuse. There is a rumour abroad—indeed, I might say, something more than a rumour—that your daughter is about to be—to contract an alliance with one of the sons of General Harding. May I ask if this rumour has any truth in it?”
“Well, Mr Woolet, to you I shall answer frankly: there is some truth in it.”
“May I further ask which of the General’s sons is to be the fortunate, and, I may say, happy individual?”
“Really, Mr Woolet! But why do you want to know this?”