‘Yes, here. In my house; or rather, in yours and Millicent’s. The truth is, when we landed in England, the first paper Milly saw held an advertisement, saying this place was for sale. She made me go the next day and buy it, stock, lock, and barrel. Now you know all.’
‘O Frank!’ interposed Millicent, ‘forgive me—I had been in England four months before I wrote to you! Do forgive me, Frank! They were very long months.’
As Frank gave her a passionate kiss, she supposed herself forgiven. Mr Keene drew out his cigar-case.
‘Now all’s settled,’ he said, ‘I’ll send and tell your carriage to go back. You can drive into Clifton this evening and fetch your luggage.’
‘Stop a moment!’ said Frank. ‘Mr Keene, I am too bewildered to say all I want to; but it must be clearly understood that I am not going to be a dependent on your bounty.’
‘I always told you, you were absurdly proud,’ growled Mr Keene.
‘I will not. Had I known that you had purchased my father’s estate, I could not have married Millicent. I would not have let the world call me a fortune-hunter.’
Mrs Frank Abbot glanced at her father. ‘I told you what he was, papa,’ she said. Then turning to Frank: ‘Will you kindly look at me, sir, and tell me how I have changed so greatly that people will think I am only worth marrying for my money?’
To this challenge Frank made no reply, in words. Then he took his wife’s hand. ‘Millicent,’ he said, ‘shall it be clearly understood that you are the wife of a poor man—that you will be happy when I ask you to leave this and come to London with me, while I work at my profession as before?’
‘Stuff and nonsense!’ growled Mr Keene. But Millicent looked into her husband’s face and whispered: ‘My darling love, your wishes shall be mine!’