"About thirty pounds a year, at my pleasure during her mother's
life."
"Whew! It's well he's not Osborne. They'll have to wait. What family
is she of? None of 'em in trade, I reckon, from her being so poor?"
"I believe her father was grandson of a certain Sir Gerald
Kirkpatrick. Her mother tells me it is an old baronetcy. I know
nothing of such things."
"That's something. I do know something of such things, as you are
pleased to call them. I like honourable blood."
Mr. Gibson could not help saying, "But I'm afraid that only
one-eighth of Cynthia's blood is honourable; I know nothing further
of her relations excepting the fact that her father was a curate."
"Professional. That's a step above trade at any rate. How old is
she?"
"Eighteen or nineteen."
"Pretty?"
"Yes, I think so; most people do; but it's all a matter of taste.
Come, Squire, judge for yourself. Ride over and take lunch with us
any day you like. I may not be in; but her mother will be there, and
you can make acquaintance with your son's future wife."
This was going too fast, however; presuming too much on the quietness
with which the Squire had been questioning him. Mr. Hamley drew back
within his shell, and spoke in a surly manner as he replied,--
"Roger's 'future wife!' He'll be wiser by the time he comes home. Two
years among the black folk will have put more sense in him."
"Possible, but not probable, I should say," replied Mr. Gibson.
"Black folk are not remarkable for their powers of reasoning, I
believe, so that they haven't much chance of altering his opinion
by argument, even if they understood each other's language; and
certainly if he shares my taste, their peculiarity of complexion will
only make him appreciate white skins the more."
"But you said it was no engagement," growled the Squire. "If he
thinks better of it, you won't keep him to it, will you?"
"If he wishes to break it off, I shall certainly advise Cynthia to
be equally willing, that's all I can say. And I see no reason for
discussing the affair further at present. I've told you how matters
stand because I promised you I would, if I saw anything of this kind
going on. But in the present condition of things, we can neither make
nor mar; we can only wait." And he took up his hat to go. But the
Squire was discontented.
"Don't go, Gibson. Don't take offence at what I've said, though I'm
sure I don't know why you should. What's the girl like in herself?"