“It does not matter about the land, Jacqueline,” said Uncle Edward, “though God forbid that I should depreciate good land—­”

“Land’s land,” quoth Colonel Dick, “and good blood’s gospel truth!”

“Bah! it’s nature’s truth!” said Uncle Edward.  “Jacqueline, my dear, our hearts are set on this match.  Mr. Ludwell Cary asked your uncle’s permission to speak to you, and your uncle gave it gladly, and neither he nor I ever dreamed—­”

“Of course we didn’t,” broke in the other.  “We didn’t dream that Jacqueline could be unreasonable or ungrateful, and we don’t dream it now!  Nor blind.  Ludwell Cary’s a man and a gentleman, and the woman who gets him is lucky!”

“We approved his suit, Jacqueline, and we hoped to be happy to-day in your happiness—­”

“And in he comes at midnight last night, with his father’s own look on his face, and what does he say to Edward and me, sitting here, waiting, with a thousand fancies in our heads?  ‘Miss Churchill will not have me,’ says he, ’and you who have been so good to me, are to be good still, and not by word or look reproach her or distress her.  The heart goes its own way, and loves where it must.  She is an angel, and to-night I am a poor beaten and weary mortal.  I thank you again, both of you, and wish you good-night.’  And off he goes before a man could say Jack Robinson!  Those were his very words, weren’t they, Edward?”

“Yes,” answered Edward.  “He is a brave and gallant gentleman, Jacqueline.  I love you, child, more than my old tongue can say.  My Castle in Spain is Greenwood with you and Ludwell Cary and the children of you both.”

“Oh, cruel!” cried Jacqueline.  “He is brave and good—­He is all that you say.  But I shall never live at Greenwood!”

“It was your father’s dearest wish,” said the Major.  “It is ours—­Richard’s and mine.  We are not men who give up easily.  God forbid, child, that I should hint to you, who are the darling of us all, of obligation—­and yet I put it to you if obedience is not owed—­”

“Yes, yes,” answered Jacqueline.  “It is owed.  I am not ungrateful—­I am mad—­perhaps I am wicked!  I wish that I were dead!”

“The Churchills,” said Uncle Edward, “have never in their marriages set vulgar store by money.  Blood we ask, of course, and honourable position, and the right way of thinking.  Individually I am a stickler for mind.  To his wealth and to his name and his great personal advantages Ludwell Cary adds intellect.  He may become a power in his country and his time.  You would so aid him, child!  I am called a woman-hater, but once, Jacqueline, I loved too well.  For all that I am a sorry old bachelor, I know whereof I speak.  With a man, a woman to fight for is not half the battle—­it is all the battle.”

“He is all that you say,” answered Jacqueline.  “But I do not love him.”

“You like him.  You admire him.”

“Yes, yes.  That is not love.”