“And a very good coat-of-arms, too. You might add the motto Ultimus regum. Or Atavis editus regibus. Or Tyrrhena regum progenies. To think that your aunt would forbid you wedding a king’s daughter!”
“I should wed the king’s daughter, aunt or no aunt, in any case; but, you see, it would be uncommonly awkward, just as old Mackenzie would want to know something more particular about my circumstances; and he might ask for references to the old lady herself, just as if I were a tenant about to take a house.”
“I have given him enough references. Go to sleep, and don’t bother yourself.”
But now Ingram found himself just as unable as his companion to escape into unconsciousness, and so he roused himself thoroughly, and began to talk about Lewis and Borva and the Mackenzies, and the duties and responsibilities Lavender would undertake in marrying Sheila.
“Mackenzie,” he said, “will expect you to live in Stornoway at least half the year, and it will be very hard on him if you don’t.”
“Oh, as to that,” said the other, “I should have no objection; but, you see, if I am to get married I really think I ought to try to get into some position of earning my own living or helping toward it, you know; I begin to see how galling this sort of dependence on my aunt might be if I wished to act for myself. Now, if I were to begin to do anything, I could not go and bury myself in Lewis for half the year—just at first; by and by, you know, it might be different. But don’t you think I ought to begin and do something?”
“Most certainly. I have often wished you had been born a carpenter or painter or glazier.”
“People are not born carpenters or glaziers, but sometimes they are born painters. I think I have been born nothing; but I am willing to try, more especially as I think Sheila would like it.”
“I know she would.”
“I will write and tell her the moment I get to London.”