“What,” I asked, “is there to prevent him from making me a partner? He means that I should join him if I marry Theresa; what’s to prevent me joining him should I marry Conny? Perhaps if you were to suggest this to him, it might give him an idea.”
“I’ll not touch upon the bank nor discuss the matter in a mercenary way at all. Thomas knows very well what he can afford; and I should certainly think it very hard if, after working all these years, and obliging me to be polite to objectionable people merely for their custom, he hasn’t money enough to enable his daughter to marry the man of my choice. I am quite content to threaten him with Mr. Curling. He has a very good opinion of my judgment, and I often hear him repeating my remarks for his own, forgetting where he got them.”
Here unfortunately we were interrupted by his entering the room, followed by Conny. Had it not been for her daughter’s presence, I believe that my aunt would have attacked her husband pretty freely, for she had worked herself up into a great state of excitement, and stood in no need of further provocation to speak her mind. He perfectly well knew what we had been talking about, and deprecated his wife’s stern gaze with a bland smile; then expressed his surprise to find me indoors after my recent complaint of the heat.
I liked him so well, was under so many obligations to him, and was so sensible that, though his scheme was entirely obnoxious to me, he had nevertheless contrived it in the generous hope of forwarding my interests, that it was quite impossible for me to be reserved or cool to him. I told him that I should be glad to smoke a cigar out of doors, a proposal he eagerly welcomed, being, as I could see, extremely anxious to avoid any discussion with his wife in my presence. I thought, when we were alone, that he would ask me what my aunt and I had been talking about, and made up my mind to answer him freely. Instead, he resolutely avoided the subject. Conny joined us: and, after a quarter of an hour’s conversation, he returned to the house, leaving me alone with my cousin.
“I wonder your papa allows us to be alone,” said I. “He ought to keep between us, since he so strongly objects to my loving you.”
“How dreadfully plain-spoken you are, Charlie. You oughtn’t to talk to me in this manner.”
“You know I love you,” I answered, “and your father knows it, and everybody knows it. What’s the use of concealment, then?”
“I suppose,” said she, with delicious coyness, “papa thinks there would be no use in his interfering between us for once only, since you are here every day, and can be with me when he is away.”
“Do you know,” I asked, looking at her askew, “that your papa and I had a—a conversation last night after we left you?”
“Indeed!”