Then he put his hand in his breast pocket, and drew forth a letter. “By Jove, I had very nearly forgotten—a letter received this morning from that dear old Aunt Henrietta. I won’t read you all of it, there are yards, but I’ll just run through a passage that concerns us.”
This was the passage he read. “I hear a great deal from Mary, who as you know is a most indefatigable correspondent, about your fiancée, Isobel Clandon. She describes her as a most sweet and lovable girl. There were always the two types in the Rossett family, the practicable and the romantic. You, Mary, and myself belong to the latter. I married for love, Mary would have done, and you are going to.
“I hear also your post is rather a dangerous one, and that they have tried to get you recalled, but that you will not hear of it. Well, I admire your spirit and sense of duty. Still, as soon as you can retire with honour, do so.
“Now that your father has given his consent, there is nothing to wait for. I shall make the way easy for you, as I have always tried to do. Bring your Isobel to see me at the first opportunity. I am longing to make her acquaintance.”
“What a darling!” cried Isobel enthusiastically. “Well, anyway, there are three dear people in the present Rossett family, your Aunt, Mary, and yourself. And Lord Saxham is not so bad after all.”
In her happiness she freely forgave the old gentleman his former hostility, his attempt to drive a bargain with her.
“No, he’s by no means so bad, when you get to know him, to pierce through the crust as it were. He is a sort of cross between the practical and romantic Rossetts,” said Guy.
They talked for a long time about their future plans.
When Isobel laid her head upon her pillow that night, she was happier than she had ever been since the day her dear old father died.