“You won't?” cried the old gentleman, ready to explode.
“I have already given you an answer, sir,” rejoined his son. “I adhere to my determination! Pray don't put yourself in a passion. It won't have any effect upon me!”
“Very well,” said Mr. Calverley, with difficulty controlling his rage. “Since you decline to fulfil your engagement, I'll marry her myself!”
“Ridiculous!” cried his son.
“Ridiculous or not, you'll find I shall be as good as my word.”
“Pshaw! The young lady won't accept you.”
He was mistaken, however.
The young lady did accept the old gentleman, and so readily that it almost seemed she preferred him to his son. Within a month, they were married.
Before the marriage Chetwynd went abroad, and did not keep up any communication with his family. They ascertained, however, that he was at Bellagio, on the Lake of Como.
Apparently, Mr. Calverley had no reason to regret the extraordinary step he had taken. Teresa made him an excellent wife, and seemed quite devoted to him. She studied him in everything—read the newspaper to him of a morning, chatted agreeably to him when they drove out together in the barouche, played and sang to him in the evening, and, in short, kept him constantly amused. She managed his large establishment perfectly—better than it had ever been managed before. She quarrelled with none of his old friends—even though she might deem some of them bores—but always appeared delighted to see them. Above all, she continued on the most affectionate terms with Mildred, who had never disapproved of the match. Nothing could be more judicious than her conduct.