“To me? I cannot express my sense of your goodness to me.”
“Get married soon,” answered his uncle; “when there is an heir I shall feel happy. Your aunt dislikes the Court, and after you marry I shall not feel the need of being even respectable. I can live as I like.”
“You are too good to me. I cannot tell you what I feel.”
He felt his thanks were poor, stilted, and feeble, but he did not know how to express himself better.
“I should like to come and see Miss Archer.”
“Call her Launa,” said his nephew. . . . “You believe in marriage?”
“I believe in yours, of course, and in my own—we all believe in what is. Marriage exists—is it a failure? For individuals sometimes, for the many—no, I suppose not, for they still marry. You will be happy.”
“I hope so.”
“I admired Miss Archer—she is a living girl. Your aunt will also go to see her—I believe this week is a week of solitude and seclusion with your aunt, but afterwards she will go. You must prepare Miss Archer for some disagreeableness and loud prayers. Your aunt is afflicted in that way on these interesting occasions.”
“Yes,” said the other.