Part 2 (2/2)
”Is she young?” asks Lady Chetwoode, anxiously.
”No,--I don't know, I'm sure. I should think not, by Trant's way of mentioning her. 'An old friend,' he says, though, of course, that might mean anything.”
”Married?”
”Yes. A widow.”
”Dear me!” says Lady Chetwoode, distastefully. ”A most objectionable cla.s.s of people. Always in the way, and--er--very designing, and that.”
”If she is anything under forty she will want to marry Guy directly,”
Cyril puts in, with an air of conviction. ”If I were you, Guy, I should pause and consider before I introduced such a dangerous ingredient so near home. Just fancy, mother, seeing Guy married to a woman probably older than you!”
”Yes,--I shouldn't wonder,” says Lady Chetwoode, nervously. ”My dear child, do nothing in a hurry. Tell Colonel Trant you--you--do not care about letting The Cottage just at present.”
”Nonsense, mother! How can you be so absurd? Don't you think I may be considered proof against designing widows at twenty-nine? Never mind Cyril's talk. I dare say he is afraid for himself. Indeed, the one thing that makes me hesitate about obliging Trant is the knowledge of how utterly incapable my poor brother is of taking care of himself.”
”It is only too true,” says Cyril, resignedly. ”I feel sure if the widow is flouted by you she will revenge herself by marrying me. Guy, as you are strong, be merciful.”
”After all, the poor creature may be quite old, and we are frightening ourselves unnecessarily,” says Lady Chetwoode, in all sincerity.
At this both Guy and Cyril laugh in spite of themselves.
”Are you really afraid, mother?” asks Cyril, fondly. ”What a goose you are about your 'boys'! Are we always to be children in your eyes? Not that I wonder at your horror of widows. Even the immortal Weller shared your sentiments, and warned his 'Samivel' against them. Never mind, mother; console yourself. I for one swear by all that is lovely never to seek this particular 'widder' in marriage.”
False oath.
”You see he seems to take it so much for granted, my giving The Cottage and that, I hardly like to refuse.”
”It would not be of the least consequence, if it was not situated actually in our own woods, and not two miles from the house. There lies the chief objection,” says Lady Chetwoode.
”Yes. Yet what can I do? It is a pretty little place, and it seems a pity to let it sink into decay. This tenant may save it.”
”It is a lovely spot. I often fancy, Guy,” says his mother, somewhat sadly, ”I should like to go and live there myself when you get a wife.”
”Why should you say that?” says Guy, almost roughly. ”If my taking a wife necessitates your quitting Chetwoode, I shall never burden myself with that luxury.”
”You don't follow out the Mater's argument, dear boy,” says Cyril, smoothly. ”She means that when your sylvan widow claims you as her own she _must_ leave, as of course the same roof could not cover both. But you are eating nothing, mother; Guy's foolish letter has taken away your appet.i.te. Take some of this broiled ham!”
”No, thank you, dear, I don't care for----”
”Don't perjure yourself. You know you have had a positive pa.s.sion for broiled ham from your cradle up. I remember all about it. I insist on your eating your breakfast, or you will have that beastly headache back again.”
”My dear,” says his mother, entreatingly, ”do you think you could be silent for a few minutes while I discuss this subject with your brother?”
”I shan't speak again. After that severe snubbing consider me dumb. But do get it over quick,” says Cyril. ”I can't be mute forever.”
”I suppose I had better say yes,” says Guy, doubtfully. ”It looks rather like the dog in the manger, having The Cottage idle and still refusing Trant's friend.”
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