"I thought her charming. Don't you love her?" Mr. Carteret asked.
"Don't ask me that to-day, for I feel sore and resentful. I don't think she has treated me well."
"You should have held her—you shouldn't have let her go," the old man returned, with unexpected fire.
His companion flushed at this, so strange it seemed to him to receive a lesson in energy from a dying octogenarian. Yet after an instant Nick answered modestly enough: "I haven't been clever enough, no doubt."
"Don't say that—don't say that," Mr. Carteret murmured, looking almost frightened. "Don't think I can allow you any mitigation of that sort. I know how well you've done. You're taking your place. Several gentlemen have told me. Hasn't she felt a scruple, knowing my settlement on you was contingent?" he pursued.
"Oh, she hasn't known—hasn't known anything about it."
"I don't understand; though I think you explained somewhat, a year ago," Mr. Carteret said, with discouragement. "I think she wanted to speak to me—of any intentions I might have in regard to you—the day she was here. Very nicely, very properly she would have done it, I'm sure. I think her idea was that I ought to make any settlement quite independent of your marrying her or not marrying her. But I tried to convey to her—I don't know whether she understood me—that I liked her too much for that, I wanted too much to make sure of her."
"To make sure of me, you mean," said Nick. "And now, after all, you see you haven't."
