“That is the present intention. But plans are but frail barks upon the capricious sea of time.”
“I see,” said Sylvester. “Now I understand your condemnation of the Colony.”
“No, no; I am sure you don't,” put in Roderick, hastily.
“Well, never mind,” said Sylvester. “Have you obtained my fathers consent?”
“Mr. Lanyon's consent? What for?”
“The marriage.”
“But Ella is overage,—her own mistress.”
“Still, she must not marry without my father's consent, or she loses her money.”
Roderick swept his hand in a magnificent gesture. “The money's neither here nor there. But of course your father will consent.”
“He's the dearest old man God ever made,” said Sylvester, in his grave way; “but he has queer crotchets now and then.”