“I do not wish to intrude,” he said, “though if any one has a right to know about my cousins I have. I am their nearest relation. I am”—and here he put on a certain dignity, though the Rainys were not a noble race—“I believe, the head of the family since my father’s death. But what I want to say is this: if you, as his legal guardians, do not object, I should like to take charge of Jock.”
“Who is Jock?” said the rector, in an undertone. There was no one to answer but Mr. Williamson, who replied in the same tone, without looking at him. “The little boy.” It was the first distinct communication that had passed between them. Dr. Beresford looked at the Nonconformist with a humph of half-angry carelessness and turned away; but yet he could not help it, he had distinctly realized the presence of the minister of Bethesda, which was a great thorn in his side. On former occasions he had said, “I know nothing about that sort of people;” but that advantage was now taken from him. He had become acquainted with the man, though he was his natural enemy.
“Take charge of Jock? with all my heart,” said the lawyer. “You could not do anything that would please me more; he has been one of our difficulties. Look here, Chervil, here is the very best thing that could happen. Mr. Rainy, a relation, a—a gentleman in the scholastic profession;” here he stopped and made a little grimace. “There will be a moderate allowance for him” he continued, with a laugh; “all that is easy enough; but there’s his sister to be taken into consideration, you know.”
“If I have your consent, I think I can manage Lucy,” said Philip, calmly. He spoke with great distinctness, and he meant them all to understand him. It was as if a thunder-bolt had been thrown in their midst: a young fellow like this, nobody in particular, to call the heiress Lucy! Mr. Rushton called her so himself, and so did Ford, and the minister, but all at once such familiarity had come to sound profane. It was quite profane in young Rainy, a mere school-master, to speak so familiarly of that golden girl. They all drew back with a distinct shiver. As for the rector, he again ventured on a little laugh.
“You are a bold fellow, Rainy,” he said, “to talk of a young lady whom we all respect so much, by her Christian name.”
“I have known her all my life, doctor; we are cousins.” There was no idea of this great respect then. “I will speak to her at once.”
The way in which the matrimonial committee drew in their breath made a distinct sound in the room. Speak to her, good heavens! a school-master—a nobody! “You will remember,” said Ford, with solemnity, “that this is the day of her father’s funeral. To speak to her—about any such matters—”
“What matters?” Philip knew very well what they meant; but he liked to play upon their apprehensions. “You may be sure,” he said, with malicious gravity, “I shall say nothing to distress her. She knows me, and I think she has confidence in me.”
“And you forget,” said Mr. Chervil, who was cool, and had his wits about him, “that it’s only about little Jock.”
“To be sure, to be sure, it is not about anything very important,” said the committee, in full accord, “it’s only about little Jock.”