“Why not, Mr. Vanclure?”
“Why not? Why because you ar’nt settled in life—yes, settled in life.”
“I have now a respectable income,” said Ernest, “if you are alluding to that, and it is increasing gradually, but surely.”
“I have no doubt, Ernest,” replied Mr. Vanclure, with more tenderness than he wished to manifest, “that you will succeed—yes, you will succeed. But still, both of you are rather young to marry.”
“We think differently,” answered Ernest, with a smile, “I am nearly twenty five.”
“Ah? are you that old? Well, bless me, I believe you are, since I come to think about it. Dear me! how time does fly—yes, how time does fly. You have got to be a man before I thought about it. Young people do grow up so fast—so fast—and Clara is a grown woman, too. Well; well.”
“Since you have discovered that we are both grown,” said Ernest with a smile, “may I hope that you will not oppose our wishes?”
“And if I did,” answered Mr. Vanclure, not knowing what he ought to say, “What would you do—yes, what would you do?”
“I should endeavor to overcome your opposition.”
“And I guess you think you’d succeed with your eloquence. You lawyers are cunning dogs,” said the old gentleman, breaking into a laugh, which, rather than otherwise, indicated approval of this feature of the legal character, “yes, cunning dogs. If I give you a chance to argue the case, I’m satisfied I’ll lose; for you’ll convince me that Clara will land in eternal perdition unless she marries you—yes marries you—and nobody else. I don’t want to get into an argument with you lawyers. So if the arrangement suits Clara, I’ll have nothing more to say. It will take a lawyer anyhow to manage the estate to which she will fall heir some of these days. The thing is now getting beyond my comprehension, and I will soon have to get a lawyer to untangle some of my affairs—yes, some of my affairs.”