“Before then—oh, before then,” he said.
“Why—how is it you are suddenly in such a hurry?—when will it be?”
“When are you marrying?” he asked in reply.
“I don’t know,” she said, coming to a full stop.
“Then I don’t know,” he said, taking a large wedge of cheese and biting a piece from it.
“It was fixed for June,” she said, recovering herself at his suggestion of hope.
“July!” said Emily.
“Father!” said he, holding the piece of cheese up before him as he spoke—he was evidently nervous: “Would you advise me to marry Meg?”
His father started, and said:
“Why, was you thinking of doing?”
“Yes—all things considered.”
“Well—if she suits you——”
“We’re cousins——”
“If you want her, I suppose you won’t let that hinder you. She’ll have a nice bit of money, and if you like her——”
“I like her all right—I shan’t go out to Canada with her though. I shall stay at the Ram—for the sake of the life.”
“It’s a poor life, that!” said the father, ruminating.
George laughed. “A bit mucky!” he said—“But it’ll do. It would need Cyril or Lettie to keep me alive in Canada.”
It was a bold stroke—everybody was embarrassed.
“Well,” said the father, “I suppose we can’t have everything we want—we generally have to put up
