Here some tears rolled quietly into the corners of the old lady’s eyes, and were wiped off with a small, withered, lively hand.
“For you know, Edward,” she added, softly, “though I am not the person to say much about that kind of thing, or to deny that there’s quite as many bad women as bad men, still, you know, Edward, it wants one of us really to make a home.”
“Ay, Elizabeth, I know,” said the Colonel, with a suppressed and quiet sigh. Then there was a momentary pause; but these two old people had both come through life and its battles; both knew losses severe enough to be beyond talking of; and over both beneficent age, consciously approaching the invisible borders of another world, had spread his patience and calm. The stream of talk was renewed again with a very little interval.
“But I want to know,” said Mrs. Melrose, “what you are going to do about your nephew—is he coming here?”
“I proposed he should; I don’t know—very likely he may prefer London; indeed, it is rather difficult to decide for Horace; he has a great opinion of his own judgment,” said the Colonel. “However, things are less complicated now; there is only himself to think of, since it appears whatever is to be done for him I must do.”
“Mind the boys in the first place, who have the best right, Edward,” said the prudent old lady; “and mind, too, that I have a penny in the corner of my purse if you should be put to that; and then about your niece—is there any word of her coming to Milnehill?”
“I fear it,” said the Colonel, shaking his head; “but, by-the-bye, that reminds me—if I could persuade her father to let Susan come, will you come to Milnehill, Elizabeth, and take charge of my little girl?”
“For why?” said Mrs. Melrose; “do you think you are not a safe enough guardian for your niece at your age?—or that the young creature wants an old wife to be spying over her for propriety’s sake? Nonsense!—and beside, Edward, if all’s true the papers say, I’ll want somebody to take care of me, a delicate young person that I am, when I go to your house. You do not suppose I would have gone to see you if I had thought you any less than a brother all this time? But look at the fellow’s impudence, venturing to say, in the very Parliament itself, that the like of us are no relations, and might court and marry like strangers. I would just like to have a woman’s Parliament for once in a way, to settle them, the filthy fellows!—if they got out of it with a hair upon their heads I can tell you it would be no fault of mine.”
“You were always a politician, Elizabeth,” said the Colonel, rising with a smile.
“Very true. I had to read up all the news by every mail to let my poor General know what he would be interested in,” said the old lady; “little wonder if I came to like it myself; and speaking of that, Edward, go you your ways home and send me the Times. You would have brought it with you if you had been a thoughtful man.”