“It is not necessary,” replied his lordship. “You know what kind of a man he is. In fact, I fear he is very nearly non compos as it is. He has got so confoundedly crotchety of late, that I should not feel surprised if, under some whim or other, he set his face-against it altogether. In fact, it is useless, and worse than useless, to consult him at all about it. I move, therefore, that we go on without him.”
“I think you are right,” returned the other; “and I have not the slightest objection: name the day. The contract is drawn up, and only requires to be signed.”
“I should say, on Monday next,” replied his lordship; “but I fear we will have objections and protestations from Miss Gourlay; and if so, how are we to manage?”
“Leave the management of Miss Gourlay to me, my lord,” replied her father. “I have managed her before and shall manage her now.”
His lordship had scarcely gone, when Lucy was immediately sent for, and as usual found her father in the library.
“Lucy,” said he, with as much blandness of manner as he could assume, “I have sent for you to say that you are called upon to make your father happy at last.”
“And myself wretched forever, papa.”
“But your word, Lucy—your promise—your honor: remember that promise so solemnly given; remember, too, your duty of obedience as a daughter.”
“Alas! I remember everything, papa; too keenly, too bitterly do I remember all.”
“You will be prepared to marry Dunroe on Monday next. The affair will be comparatively private. That is to say, we will ask nobody—no dejeuner—no nonsense. The fewer the better at these matters. Would you wish to see your brother—hem—I mean Mr. Gray?”