'My dear, most kind friend,' she said, and her own voice was tremulous, 'how can you use such an expression? You grateful to us! Ah, no indeed; as long as we live we shall be at a loss how to show our gratitude to you.'
'Yes indeed,' said Colonel Mildmay. 'I do not know how to express my appreciation of all your goodness. I'——
'Then you consent,' exclaimed Lady Myrtle, her bright eyes sparkling. 'You will be my children; you will let me feel that my lonely life is to have some joy before its close.'
'Indeed, indeed, all we can do, we shall,' said Colonel Mildmay very gently. 'You cannot ask more affection than we are most ready to give. But'——He hesitated, and the look of eager satisfaction faded out of the old lady's face.
'But!' she repeated sharply. 'What "buts" can there be in so simple a matter?'
It was a distressing position. Colonel Mildmay, essentially a kind-hearted man and most averse to giving pain, felt it acutely. But he was not one to temporise. It was a case demanding the plainest speaking.
'My dear Lady Myrtle,' he said, 'if I am blunt or rough, forgive me. It is just this. I cannot agree to what I think wrong, and I could never feel it right to agree to what you propose. I am still young enough and strong enough to work for my family in my profession, and the day I began to lead an idle, or even a comparatively idle life, would see me a miserable man. If you are so good as to continue your interest in my children—Jacinth especially—by asking them to visit you sometimes, we shall be most grateful. If—if you like to leave Jacinth some little sum of money in your will which would help or increase any provision I can make for her, I would be foolish and ungracious in the extreme to object. But more than this—no, my dear friend, no. For—and here I must crave your pardon beforehand for what must seem impertinence and intrusion—not only have we, we Mildmays, no claim upon you, but—there are those who have.'
