Roger had turned over many plans in his mind, by which he thought
that he could obtain sufficient money for the purpose he desired to
accomplish. His careful grandfather, who had been a merchant in the
city, had so tied up the few thousands he had left to his daughter,
that although, in case of her death before her husband's, the latter
might enjoy the life-interest thereof, yet, in case of both their
deaths, their second son did not succeed to the property until he was
five-and-twenty; and if he died before that age, the money that would
then have been his went to one of his cousins on the maternal side.
In short, the old merchant had taken as many precautions about his
legacy as if it had been for tens, instead of units of thousands. Of
course Roger might have slipped through all these meshes by insuring
his life until the specified age; and, probably, if he had consulted
any lawyer, this course would have been suggested to him. But he
disliked taking any one into his confidence on the subject of
his father's want of ready money. He had obtained a copy of his
grandfather's will at Doctors' Commons, and he imagined that all the
contingencies involved in it would be patent to the light of nature
and common sense. He was a little mistaken in this, but not the less
resolved that money in some way he would have in order to fulfil his
promise to his father, and for the ulterior purpose of giving the
squire some daily interest to distract his thoughts from the regrets
and cares that were almost weakening his mind. It was "Roger Hamley,
senior wrangler and Fellow of Trinity, to the highest bidder, no
matter what honest employment," and presently it came down to "any
bidder at all."
Another perplexity and distress at this time weighed upon Roger.
Osborne, heir to the estate, was going to have a child. The Hamley
property was entailed on "heirs male born in lawful wedlock." Was the
"wedlock" lawful? Osborne never seemed to doubt that it was--never
seemed, in fact, to think twice about it. And if he, the husband, did
not, how much less did Aimée, the trustful wife? Yet who could tell
how much misery any shadows of illegality might cast into the future?
One evening Roger, sitting by the languid, careless, dilettante
Osborne, began to question him as to the details of the marriage.
Osborne knew instinctively at what Roger was aiming. It was not that
he did not desire perfect legality in justice to his wife; it was
that he was so indisposed at the time that he hated to be bothered.
It was something like the refrain of Gray's Scandinavian Prophetess:
"Leave me, leave me to repose."