“Indeed!” The old gentleman’s cheek began to flush involuntarily, and he muttered, “The cat’s out of the bag now, begad!”
“He told me a story, sir, which gave me the deepest surprise and pain,” said Pen.
The Major tried to look unconcerned. “What—that story about—about—What-d’-you-call-’em, hey?”
“About Miss Amory’s father—about Lady Clavering’s first husband, and who he is, and what.”
“Hem—a dev’lish awkward affair!” said the old man, rubbing his nose. “I—I’ve been aware of that—eh—confounded circumstance for some time.”
“I wish I had known it sooner, or not at all,” said Arthur, gloomily.
“He is all safe,” thought the Senior, greatly relieved. “Gad! I should have liked to keep it from you altogether—and from those two poor women, who are as innocent as unborn babes in the transaction.”
“You are right. There is no reason why the two women should hear it; and I shall never tell them—though that villain, Morgan, perhaps may,” Arthur said, gloomily. “He seems disposed to trade upon his secret, and has already proposed terms of ransom to me. I wish I had known of the matter earlier, sir. It is not a very pleasant thought to me that I am engaged to a convict’s daughter.”
“The very reason why I kept it from you—my dear boy. But Miss Amory is not a convict’s daughter, don’t you see? Miss Amory is the daughter of Lady Clavering, with fifty or sixty thousand pounds for a fortune; and her father-in-law, a Baronet and country gentleman, of high reputation, approves of the match, and gives up his seat in Parliament to his son-in-law. What can be more simple?”
“Is it true, sir?”