“Yes, yes,” said the old man, cheering up. “Did you hear that he gave my poor Gervase a wedding present? that little chap! and the only one—the only one! I’ll never forget that, Meg, if I should live to be a hundred. And, please God, we’ll pay it back to him, and make a man of him, Meg.”
“It was precisely of that, Uncle, I wanted to speak.” But how was she to speak? What was she to say to this old man so full of affection and of generous purpose? Margaret went on patting the old gentleman on the shoulder unconsciously, soothing him as if he had been a child. “Dear Uncle Giles, you know that now Gervase is married, they—he will want to live, perhaps, rather a different way.”
“What different way?” said Sir Giles, aroused and holding up his head.
“I mean, they are young people, you know, and will want to, perhaps—see more company, have visitors, enjoy their life.”
Sir Giles gave her an anxious, deprecating look.
“Do you think then, Meg, that—that she will do? that she will know how to manage? that she will be able to keep Gervase up to the mark?”
“I think,” said Margaret, pausing to find the best words, “I think—that she is really clever, and very, very quick, and will adapt herself and learn, and—yes—I believe she will keep him up to the mark.”
“God bless you for saying so, my dear! that is what I began to hope. We could not have expected him to make a great match, Meg.”
“No, Uncle.”
“His poor mother, you know, always had hopes. She thought some nice girl might have taken a fancy to him. But it was not to be expected, Meg.”