“I am forewarned,” he said, laughing. “I shall know how to beguile you now that I am informed.”
“I hope you may never have the occasion,” she said.
“Of helping you? Do you think that is a kind wish, Miss Penton? for it is a thing which would be more delightful than anything else that could happen to me.”
Ally, being a little confused by this continuance of the subject, led him round by the edge of the river to the poplar-tree and the bench underneath. “We used all to be very fond of this seat,” she said, “because of the view. If Penton is going now to be nothing to us we must take the bench away.”
“Can it ever cease to be something to you? It is the home of your ancestors.”
“Oh, yes; but one’s father is more near one than one’s ancestors, and if he is to have nothing to do with Penton—”
“You regret Penton,” said the lawyer, fixing his eyes upon her; “then I wish my hand had been burned off before I had anything to do with the business.”
“Oh, what could that matter?” cried Ally. “I am nobody; and besides,” she added, with gravity, “I do not suppose it could have been stopped by anything that either you or I could do.”
This made the young man pause; but whatever was disagreeable in it was modified by the conjunction “you and I.” Was it only civility, or had she unconsciously fallen into the trap and associated herself with him by some real bond of sympathy? He resumed after a pause, “Perhaps we might not be able to cope with such grandees as your father and Mrs. Russell Penton, but there is nothing so strong as—as an association—as mutual help, don’t you know?”
Ally did not know, neither did he, what he meant. She replied only, “Oh!” in a startled tone, and hurriedly changed the subject. “Will it take a long time to draw out all the papers, Mr. Rochford? Why should it take so long? It seems so simple.”