“I hate the word ‘marriage,’” returned Frances, impatiently.
“Ah, but it is a woman’s privilege, the one great purpose of her life,” I insisted. “Why pretend otherwise? I don’t believe in the drag-net process of getting a husband, but in England a girl must be seen before she is married, and her chief concern should be to be seen by the right man.”
“I should detest the right man,” returned Frances, now grown almost surly.
“Yes, yes, now, perhaps. But the suggestion I have to make, if acted upon, will do all these things for you and will give you the opportunity to detest the ‘right man’ intelligently if you feel so inclined when you meet him. I have taken it upon myself to come all the way to Sundridge with a suggestion, because of the love I bear you and because you have no mother to do these things for you. As for dear Uncle Richard—well, you know, he can’t.”
“No, no! father is old and of late has been failing rapidly. Sarah and I can look for no help from him. On the contrary, we must help him. I have thought of nothing else, night or day, for years. Tell me what it is you have to suggest. What you have had to say to us has always been for our good. We should have starved these last five years had it not been for you and good old Roger Wentworth. Tell me, Baron Ned, what have you come to offer me?”
I had intended telling Frances privately of the Duchess of York’s announcement, but after my talk with her I concluded to wait and to make the statement in the presence of her father, so I answered:—
“I am not ready to tell you just now, but I’ll do so before I return to London.”
“Then return at once, Baron Ned.”
“If I do, you’ll never hear it,” I answered.
“In that case, stay. But tell me as soon as you can, for pent-up curiosity is killing to a girl,” said Frances, with a doleful little smile.
“Does nothing else trouble just now?” I asked.
She turned to me in surprise, blushed and answered: “Yes. My poor, dear father. Yes—father. Of course there’s nothing else. Why do you ask?”
“Just to be asking,” I replied.
At that point we came to the shop where we were to buy our supper, and I was glad to change the subject. I had learned definitely that there was a man in the case, and my task would be to put him out if I could. The man who first enters a young girl’s heart is hard to dislodge, and the worst part of the terrible business is that even she herself may be unable to expel him her whole life through.
When supper was well under way that evening, I took the opportunity to set my great ball rolling, and said:—
“Uncle Richard, I have come from London for the purpose of offering a suggestion which may eventually be of advantage to all of you.”
Sarah put down her knife and fork to listen; Frances held hers in suspense, and Sir Richard looked up quickly, asking:—