Cursed by a Fortune Part 8

"Oh, my dear, did you think so?" cried Mrs Wilton.

"Yes, madam, I did think so," said her husband with asperity, "and, what was ten times worse, you were always leaving them together in your blundering way."

"Don't say such things to me, dear, before Claud."

"Then don't spend your time making mistakes. Just come, have you, sir?"

"Oh, yes, father, just come," said the young man, with an offensive grin.

"You heard more than you said, sir," said the Squire, "so we may as well have a few words at once."

"No, no, no, my dear; pray, pray don't quarrel with Claud now; I'm sure he wants to do everything that is right."

"Be quiet, Maria," cried the Squire, angrily.

"All right, mother; I'm not going to quarrel," said the son.

"Of course not I only want Claud to understand his position. Look here, sir, you are at an age when a bo--, when a man doesn't understand the value of money."

"Oh, I say, guv'nor! Come, I like that."

"It's quite true, sir. You boys only look upon money as something to spend."

"Right you are, this time."

"But it means more, sir--power, position, the respect of your fellows-- everything."

"Needn't tell me, guv'nor; I think I know a thing or two about tin."

"Now, suppose we leave slang out of the matter and talk sensibly, sir, about a very important matter."

"Go on ahead then, dad; I'm listening."

"Sit down then, Claud."

"Rather stand, guv'nor; stand and grow good, ma."

"Yes, my dear, do then," said Mrs Wilton, smiling at her son fondly.

"But listen now to what papa says; it really is very important."

"All right, mother; but cut it short, father, my horse is waiting and I don't want him to take cold."

"Of course not, my boy; always take care of your horse. I will be very brief and to the point, then. Look here, Claud, your cousin, Katherine--"

"Oh! Ah, yes; I heard she was ill. What does the Doctor say?"

"Never mind what the Doctor says. It is merely a fit of depression and low spirits. Now this is a serious matter. I did drop hints to you before. I must be plain now about my ideas respecting your future. You understand?"

"Quite fly, dad. You want me to marry her."

"Exactly. Of course in good time."

"But ain't I 'owre young to marry yet,' as the song says?"

"Years do not count, my boy," said his father, majestically. "If you were ten years older and a weak, foolish fellow, it would be bad; but when it is a case of a young man who is bright, clever, and who has had some experience of the world, it is different."

Mrs Wilton, who was listening intently to her husband's words, bowed her head, smiled approval, and looked with the pride of a mother at her unlicked cub.

But Claud's face wrinkled up, and he looked inquiringly at his elder.

"I say, guv'nor," he said, "does this mean chaff?"

"Chaff? Certainly not, sir," said the father sternly. "Do I look like a man who would descend to--to--to chaff, as you slangly term it, my own son?"

"Not a bit of it, dad; but last week you told me I was the somethingest idiot you ever set eyes on."

"Claud!"

"Well, he did, mother, and he used that favourite word of his before it.

You know," said the youth, with a grin.

"Claud, my dear, you shouldn't."

"I didn't, mother; it was the dad. I never do use it except in the stables or to the dogs."

"Claud, my boy, be serious. Yes, I did say so, but you had made me very angry, and--er--I spoke for your good."

"Yes, I'm sure he did, my dear," said Mrs Wilton.

"Oh, all right, then, so long as he didn't mean it. Well, then, to cut it short, you both want me to marry Kate?"

"Exactly."

"Not much of a catch. Talk about a man's wife being a clinging vine; she'll be a regular weeping willow."

"Ha! ha! very good, my boy," said Wilton, senior; "but no fear of that.

Poor girl, look at her losses."

"But she keeps going on getting into deeper misery. Look at her."

"It only shows the sweet tenderness of her disposition, Claud, my dear,"

said his mother.

"Yes, of course," said his father, "but you'll soon make her dry her eyes."

"And she really is a very sweet, lovable, and beautiful girl, my dear,"

said Mrs Wilton.

"Tidy, mother; only her eyes always look as red as a ferret's."