"Why," said Houseman, "you will not have to wait for the death of these testators,—Heaven forbid! But what does all this making of wills show me? That both these gentlemen are deep in love with you, and you can pick and choose; I say, you can wed with Bolton Hall or Neville's Court to-morrow; so, prithee, let the Squire have his hundred pounds, and do you repay me at your leisure."
Miss Peyton made no reply, but leaned her exquisite head upon her hand and pondered.
She did not knit her brows, nor labor visibly at the mental oar; yet a certain reposeful gravity and a fixity of the thoughtful eye showed she was applying all the powers of her mind.
Mr. Houseman was not surprised at that: his own wife had but little intellect; yet had he seen her weigh two rival bonnets in mortal silence, and with all the seeming profundity of a judge on the bench. And now this young lady was doubtless weighing farms with similar gravity, care, and intelligence.
But as this continued, and still she did not communicate her decision, he asked her point-blank which of the two she settled to wed: Neville's Court or Bolton Grange.
Thus appealed to, Miss Peyton turned her great eye on him, without really looking at him, and replied,—
"You have made me very uneasy."
He stared. She relapsed into thought a moment, and then, turning to Houseman, asked him how he accounted for those two gentlemen making their wills. They were very young to make their wills all of a sudden.
"Why," said Houseman, "Mr. Neville is a man of sense, and every man of sense makes his will; and as for Mr. Gaunt, he has just come into prospect of an estate; that's why."
"Ah, but why could not Griffith wait till after the funeral?"