“He wrote a letter, just saying that he would like it.”
“Exactly so. You have found yourself compelled to do his bidding, and you have done it. Then let there be an end of it. I would not marry an angel even to oblige him or to get Llanfeare; and you are not an angel—to my way of thinking.”
“I don’t know about angels,” he said, trying still to be good-humoured.
“No, no. That was my nonsense. There is no question of angels. But not for all Llanfeare, not even to oblige him, would I undertake to marry a man even if I were near to loving him. I should have to love him entirely, without reference to Llanfeare. I am not at all near loving you.”
“Why not, Isabel?” he asked foolishly.
“Because—because—because you are odious to me!”
“Isabel!”
“I beg your pardon. I should not have said so. It was very wrong; but, then, why did you ask so foolish a question? Did I not tell you to let there be an end of it? And now will you let me give you one little bit of advice?”
“What is it?” he asked angrily. He was beginning to hate her, though he was anxious to repress his hatred, lest by indulging it he should injure his prospects.
“Do not say a word about me to my uncle. It will be better for you not to tell him that there has been between us any such interview as this. If he did once wish that you and I should become man and wife, I do not think that he wishes it now. Let the thing slide, as they say. He has quite made up his mind in your favour, because it is his duty. Unless you do something to displease him very greatly, he will make no further change. Do not trouble him more than you can help by talking to him on things that are distasteful. Anything in regard to me, coming from you, will be distasteful to him. You had better go about among the farms, and see the tenants, and learn the condition of everything. And then talk to him about that. Whatever you do, never suggest that the money coming from it all is less than it ought to be. That is my advice. And now, if you please, you and I need not talk about it any more.” Then she got up and left the room without waiting for a reply.
When he was alone he resolved upon complying with her advice, at any rate in one respect. He would not renew his offer of marriage; nor would he hold any further special conversation with her. Of course, she was hateful to him, having declared so plainly to him her own opinion regarding himself. He had made the offer, and had thereby done his duty. He had made the offer, and had escaped.
But he did not at all believe in the sincerity of her advice as to their uncle. His heart was throbbing with the desire to secure the inheritance to himself—and so he thought, no doubt, was hers as to herself. It might be that the old man’s intention would depend upon his obedience, and if so, it was certainly necessary that the old man should know that he had been obedient. Of course, he would tell the old man what he had done.
But he said not a word till Isabel had gone. He did take her advice about the land and the tenants, but hardly to much effect. If there were a falling roof here or a half-hung door there, he displayed his zeal by telling the Squire of these defaults. But the Squire hated to hear of such defaults. It must be acknowledged that it would have required a man of very great parts to have given satisfaction in the position in which this young man was placed.
But as soon as Isabel was gone he declared his obedience.
“I have asked her, sir, and she has refused me,” he said in a melancholy, low, and sententious voice.
“What did you expect?”
“At any rate, I did as you would have me.”
“Was she to jump down your throat when you asked her?”
“She was very decided—very. Of course, I spoke of your wishes.”
“I have not any wishes.”
“I thought that you desired it.”
“So I did, but I have changed my mind. It would not do at all. I almost wonder how you could have had the courage to ask her. I don’t suppose that you have the insight to see that she is different from other girls.”
“Oh, yes; I perceived that.”
“And yet you would go and ask her to be your wife offhand, just as though you were going to buy a horse! I suppose you told her that it would be a good thing because of the estate?”
“I did mention it,” said the young man, altogether astounded and put beyond himself by his uncle’s manner and words.
“Yes; just as if it were a bargain! If you will consent to put up with me as a husband, why, then you can go shares with me in the property. That was the kind of thing, wasn’t it? And then you come and tell me that you have done your duty by making the offer!”
The heir expectant was then convinced that it would have been better for him to have followed the advice which Isabel had given him, but yet he could not bring himself to believe that the advice had been disinterested. Why should Isabel have given him disinterested advice in opposition to her own prospects? Must not Isabel’s feeling about the property be the same as his own?
IV
The Squire’s Death
With a sore heart Isabel went her way to Hereford—troubled because she saw nothing but sorrow and vexation in store for her uncle.
“I know that I am getting weaker every day,” he said. And yet it was not long since he had spoken of living for two
