“He has no children,” said Mary.
“No, not now; but when a man is going to get married——”
“Letitia!”
“Oh, don’t be a fool, Mary Hill! You’re not a baby not to know. When a man marries—if he were Methuselah—one knows what he looks for. John and I would scorn to ask anything from you, though you will ruin us too. But the children! A mother must fight for her children. Poor little Duke, whom you always pretended to be so fond of—he’s fond of you, poor child—he sent his love to his Aunt Mary, little thinking they will all be ruined—because of you——”
“Letitia, oh what can I do?”
“You can give him up,” said Mrs. Parke, “in a moment. It will not give you much trouble to do that. An old fool like Frogmore, an old precise, wearisome old——. Why, he’s older than your father: and you who are engaged to my poor brother Ralph, such a fine man.”
“I never was engaged to your brother Ralph!” cried Mary, with indignation.
“You say so now: but if one had asked you ten years ago. We might make up a little something for him even now—a little goes a long way in Australia: and with someone whom he was fond of to keep him right, Mary!”
“Letitia! It is all a mistake. I never, never was fond of him.”
“And now, when you might save him if you liked! This has been such a blow to him. He would marry you to-morrow and take you away out of everybody’s reach. The man that was really, really, oh, you won’t deny it! the man of your heart.”