“Ill-luck to whom?” said the Squire. “Do you think perhaps your sister never had the chance, as people say? You may dismiss that idea from your mind. She has had enough of chances. I don’t know any reason; but there must have been one, I suppose. Either that nobody came whom she cared for, or—I really cannot form any other idea,” he concluded, sharply. It was certain that he would not have Mary discussed.
“I meant no harm,” said Randolph. “She has got the old hall very nicely done up. It is not a place I would myself care to keep up, if the Castle were in my hands; but she has made it very nice. I found her there with—among her favourite studies,” he added, after a momentary pause. It was too early to begin direct upon the chapter of the children, he felt. The Squire did not show any sign of special understanding. He nodded his head in assent.
“She was always fond of the hall,” he said. “I used to think she suited it. And now that she is—past her youth, as you say—— ”
“Well into middle age I say, sir, like other people; which is a more serious affair for a woman than for a man; but I suppose all hopes are over now. She is not likely to marry at her time of life.” This was the second time he had mentioned the time of life. And the Squire did not like it; he answered curtly——
“No, I don’t think it likely that Mary will marry. But yourself, Randolph, how are things going with you? You have not come so far merely to calculate your sister’s chances. Your wife is well, I hope; and your boy?”
“Quite well. You are right in thinking, sir, that I did not come without an object. We are all getting on in life. I thought it only proper that there should be some understanding among us as to family affairs—something decided in the case of any emergency. We are all mortal—— ”
“And I the most mortal of all, you will say, at my ‘time of life,’ Randolph,” said the Squire, with a smile, which was far from genial. “I daresay you are quite right, perfectly right. I am an old man, and nobody can tell what an hour may bring forth.”
“That is true at every age,” said Randolph, with professional seriousness. “The idea ought to be familiar to the youngest among us. In the midst of life we are in death. I recommend everybody over whom I have the least influence to settle their affairs, so that they may not leave a nest of domestic contentions behind them. It is only less important than needful spiritual preparation, which of course should be our first care.”
“Just so,” said Mr. Musgrave. “I presume you don’t mean to bring me to book on that point?”
“Certainly not, sir—unless there is any special point upon which I could be of use; but you are as well able to judge as I am, and have access to all the authorities,” said Randolph with dignity. “Besides, there is your own clergyman at hand, who is no doubt quite equal to the duties of his position. It is old Pennithorne, is it not?” he added, with a momentary lapse into a more familiar tone. “But there is no question of that. In such matters a man of your experience, sir, ought to be able to instruct the best of us.”