* * * * *
Meanwhile, Ferrier and Marsham were in anxious conclave. Ferrier
counselled delay. "Let the thing sleep a little. Don't announce the
engagement. You and Miss Mallory will, of course, understand each other.
You will correspond. But don't hurry it. So much consideration, at
least, is due to your mother's strong feeling."
Marsham assented, but despondently.
"You know my mother; time will make no difference."
"I'm not so sure--I'm not so sure," said Ferrier, cheerfully. "Did your
mother say anything about--finances?"
Marsham gave a gloomy smile.
"I shall be a pauper, of course--that was made quite plain to me."
"No, no!--that must be prevented!" said Ferrier, with energy.
Marsham was not quick to reply. His manner as he stood with his back to
the fire, his distinguished head well thrown back on his straight, lean
shoulders, was the manner of a proud man suffering humiliation. He was
thirty-six, and rapidly becoming a politician of importance. Yet here he
was--poor and impotent, in the midst of great wealth, wholly dependent,
by his father's monstrous will, on his mother's caprice--liable to be
thwarted and commanded, as though he were a boy of fifteen.
Pages:
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339