'If it had only been as you say!' Mr. Holwood put two hands to his chair, lifted it and himself together till he had straightened his legs, then set it down again, with himself upon it. 'If it had been so, I should have been greatly relieved. But it was a marriage, irregular in law, yet valid——'
'In the eye of the law,' put in Olver.
'Exactly so, exactly. That is my trouble. I move in such good society, and my aunt is worth from two to three thousand a year, and if she came to hear of this she would leave it all to another nephew, a cousin, a curate steeped in Methodistical notions. If he got an inkling of it—he is a very serious man, and wouldn't dance or go to a theatre to save his soul—he'd go post haste and tell her about me, on principle of course, and spoil all my chances.'
'Then, sir, there is nothing to be done but leave the matter wholly in my hands, as it has been heretofore.'
Mr. Holwood looked into the fire, and his chin retreated behind his stock. Presently he said dreamily, 'I should have liked to have seen her—just once more to have seen her, you understand, without being seen.'
'Impossible,' said Dench, and struck the floor with his foot. 'Sheer lunacy.'
'But—the little girl. What is she like?'
'Like her mother.'
'It could not be contrived, I suppose, that I should see her?'
'It cannot be done, sir, with safety. That girl is as keen as a razor.'