“You remember Walter, do you not?” said Miss Marrable to her niece.
“Not the least in the world. I remember there was a Walter when I was at Dunripple. But that was ten years ago, and boy cousins and girl cousins never fraternise.”
“I suppose he was nearly a young man then, and you were a child?”
“He was still at school, though just leaving it. He is seven years older than I am.”
“He is coming to stay with Parson John.”
“You don’t say so, aunt Sarah? What will such a man as Captain Marrable do at Loring?”
Then aunt Sarah explained all that she knew, and perhaps suggested more than she knew. Walter Marrable had quarrelled with his father, the Colonel—with whom, indeed, everybody of the name of Marrable had always been quarrelling, and who was believed by Miss Marrable to be the very—mischief himself. He was a man always in debt, who had broken his wife’s heart, who lived with low company and disgraced the family, who had been more than once arrested, on whose behalf all the family interest had been expended, so that nobody else could get anything, and who gambled and drank and did whatever wicked things a wicked old colonel living at Portsmouth could do. And indeed, hitherto, Miss Marrable had entertained opinions hardly more charitable respecting the son than she had done in regard to the father. She had disbelieved in this branch of the Marrables altogether. Captain Marrable had lived with his father a good deal—at least, so she had understood—and therefore could not but be bad. And, moreover, our Miss Sarah Marrable had, throughout her whole life, been somewhat estranged from the elder branches of the family. Her father, Walter, had been—so she thought—injured by his brother Sir Gregory, and there had been some law proceedings, not quite amicable, between her brother the parson, and the present Sir Gregory. She respected Sir Gregory as the head of the family, but she never went now to Dunripple, and knew nothing of Sir Gregory’s heir. Of the present Parson John she had thought very little before he had come to Loring. Since he had been living there she had found that blood was thicker than water—as she would say—and they two were intimate. When she heard that Captain Marrable was coming, because he had quarrelled with his father, she began to think that perhaps it might be as well that she should allow herself to meet this new cousin.
“What do you think of your cousin, Walter?” the old clergyman said to his nephew, one evening, after the two ladies, who had been dining at the Rectory, had left them. It was the first occasion on which Walter Marrable had met Mary since his coming to Loring.
“I remember her as well as if it were yesterday, at Dunripple. She was a little girl then, and I thought her the most beautiful little girl in the world.”
“We all think her very beautiful still.”
“So she is; as lovely as ever she can stand. But she does not seem to have much to say for herself. I remember when she was a little girl she never would speak.”
“I fancy she can talk when she pleases, Walter. But you mustn’t fall in love with her.”
“I won’t, if I can help it.”
“In the first place I think she is as good as engaged to a fellow with a very pretty property in Wiltshire, and in the next place she hasn’t got—one shilling.”
“There is not much danger. I am not inclined to trouble myself about any girl in my present mood, even if she had the pretty property herself, and wasn’t engaged to anybody. I suppose I shall get over it some day, but I feel just at present as though I couldn’t say a kind word to a human being.”
“Psha!