“If I go soon,” said the old man, “she’ll be five-and-twenty, and no more; and I think I’ll go soon; but nobody can answer for a year or two. Yes, I think it’s a pretty will as it stands; I don’t think, without any partiality, that you’ll find many like it. There’s nothing that can happen to her, so far as human insight goes, that I have not foreseen and left directions for. I hope I have not been insensible to my responsibilities, Ford. I’ve tried to be father and mother both. If you can point out anything that I’ve neglected—”
“Mr. Trevor,” said the other; “you’ve thought of a many more things than would ever have come into my head. You’ve discharged your duties nobly; and I and Susan will do our part. You need not be afraid; we’ll take your example for our guide, and we’ll do our part.”
“Just so, just so,” said the old man, not so much interested. It was essential, no doubt, that his will should be carried out; but he did not realize so clearly, and perhaps he did not wish to realize, that he would himself have no hand in carrying it out. When the question was put as to how the Fords were to do their part, his attention flagged. “You are not to be the first, you know,” he said, brusquely; “there’s my Lady Randolph that comes first.”
Here Ford began to shake his head. “If you took my opinion, I’d say that was the one weak point,” he said; “I make bold to say it, though I know you will be offended, Mr. Trevor. That’s the weak point. It’s well intended, very well intended; but that’s the weak point.”
“You blockhead!” said the other; but he kept his temper. “You would keep her in Farafield all her life, I shouldn’t wonder, and have all the little cads in the place after her, and never let her have a glimpse of the world.”
“I don’t know what you call the world,” said Ford. “Human nature is the same everywhere. We are just the same lot wherever you take us; and as for cads, there’s Sir Thomas— I thank the Lord I don’t know anybody in Farafield—nobody in my own class of life—that has been so tiresome, that has been as wild—”
“You let Sir Thomas alone,” said old Trevor; “he never was a cad.”
Upon which Ford continued to shake his head. “It may be a word that I don’t fathom,” he said; “I don’t know one in Farafield that has given as much trouble; and he’s always in want of money; it’s like putting the lamb into the clutches of the wolf.”
“There are plenty of wolves,” said the old man. “That’s my policy: I set one to fight the other, and I wish them joy of it. One here and one there, that’s better than a single candidate. And while they’re pulling each other to pieces, my little lamb will get off scot-free.”
Ford shook his head persistently, till it seemed doubtful if it ever would recover its steadiness. “If I were to speak my mind,” he said; “there’s one that has a real claim—just one. He’s may be too modest to speak for himself; but there is one, if I were to speak my mind—”