“Ah, that is very good,” said Mackenzie in a cautious sort of way, “but has he ever made any money?”
“Oh, I fancy not—nothing to speak of. He has sold some pictures, but I think he has given more away.”
“Then it iss not easy, tek my word for it, Mr. Ingram, to begin a new trade when you are twenty-five years of age, and the people who will tek your pictures for nothing, will they pay for them if you wanted the money?”
It was obviously the old man’s eager wish to prove to himself that, somehow or other, Lavender might come to have no money, and be made dependent on his father-in-law. So far, indeed, from sharing the sentiments ordinarily attributed to that important relative, he would have welcomed with a heartfelt joy the information that the man who, as he expected, was about to marry his daughter, was absolutely penniless. Not even all the attractions of that deer forest in Sutherlandshire—particularly fascinating as they must have been to a man of his education and surroundings—had been able to lead the old King of Borva even into hinting to his daughter that the owner of that property would like to marry her. Sheila was to choose for herself. She was not like a fisherman’s lass, bound to consider ways and means. And now that she had chosen, or at least indicated the possibility of her doing so, her father’s chief desire was that his future son-in-law should come and take and enjoy his money, so only that Sheila might not be carried away from him forever.
“Well, I will see about it,” said Mackenzie, with an affectation of cheerful and practical shrewdness. “Oh, yes, I will see about it when Sheila has made up her mind. He is a very good young man, whatever—”
“He is the best-hearted fellow I know,” said Ingram, warmly. “I don’t think Sheila has much to fear if she marries him. If you had known him as long as I have, you would know how considerate he is to everybody about him, how generous he is, how good-natured and cheerful, and so forth; in short, he is a thorough good fellow, and that’s what I have to say about him.”
“It iss well for him he will hef such a champion,” said Mackenzie, with a smile; “there is not many Sheila will pay attention to as she does to you.”
They went indoors again, Ingram scarcely knowing how he had got so easily through the ordeal, but very glad it was over.
Sheila was still at the piano, and on their entering she said, “Papa, here is a song you must learn to sing with me.”
“And what iss it, Sheila?” he said, going over to her.