“Apropos of marriage,” said Mrs. Montagu once more, “have you seen little Miss Trevor in your wilds, Sir Tom? Our young author has gone off there, on simulated duty of a domestic kind, but to try his best for the heiress, I am sure. Do you think he has a chance? I am interested,” said the little lady. “Come, the latest gossip! you must know all about it. In a country neighborhood every scrap is worth its weight in gold.”
“I know all about it,” said Sir Tom.
“That you may be sure he does; where does all the gossip come from but from the men? we are never so thorough. He’ll give you the worst of it, you may take my word for that. But I like that little Lucy Trevor,” cried old Lady Betsinda; “she was a nice, modest little thing. She never looked her money; she was more like a little girl at home, a little kitten to play with. I hope she is not going to have the author. I always warned you, Mary Randolph, not to let her have to do with authors, and that sort of people; but you never take my advice till it’s too late.”
“She is not going to marry the author,” said Sir Tom, with another laugh; and then he rose up, almost stumbling over the tea-table. “My dear ladies,” he said, “who are so much interested in Lucy Trevor, the fact is that the author never had the slightest chance. She is going to marry—me. And I have come, Aunt Mary, if you please, to ask if you will kindly give your consent? The other guardians have been good enough to approve of me,” he added, making her a bow, “and I hope I may not owe my disappointment to you.”
“The other guardians— Tom!” cried Lady Randolph, falling upon him and seizing him with both hands, “is this true?”
Sir Tom kissed her hand with a grace which he was capable of when he pleased, and drew it within his arm.
“I presume, then,” he said, as he led her away, “that I shall get your consent too.”
Thus old Mr. Trevor’s will was fulfilled. It was not fulfilled in the way he wished or thought of, but what then? He thought it would have kept his daughter unmarried, whereas her mourning for him was not ended when she became Lady Randolph—which she did very soon after the above scene, to the apparent content of everybody. Even Philip Rainy looked upon the arrangement with satisfaction. Taking Lucy’s fortune to redeem the great Randolph estate, and to make his little cousin the first woman in the county, was not like giving it “to another fellow;” which was the thing he had not been able to contemplate with patience. The popular imagination, indeed, was more struck with the elevation of little Lucy Trevor to be the mistress of the Hall than with Sir Thomas’s good fortune in becoming the husband of the greatest heiress in England. But when his settlements were signed, both the guardians, Mr. Chervil and Mr. Rushton, took the bridegroom-elect aside.
“We can not do anything for you about that giving-away clause,” Mr. Chervil said, shaking his head.
“But Sir Thomas is not the man I take him for, if he don’t find means to keep that in check,” said Mr. Rushton.