‘Sorry that your affianced husband is devoted to you! My dear Beatrix, you must be going out of your mind.’ ‘I sometimes think I am,’ answered Beatrix, in a low voice. This conversation occurred about a fortnight before the wedding day. It made Mrs. Dulcimer very uncomfortable, but she said no word about it to anybody, not even to her chosen confidante, Rebecca. Was it possible, poor Mrs. Dulcimer asked herself, that this match, the crowning glory of all her efforts, was going to turn out ill? Beatrix sent for Mr. Scratchell next day, and received him alone in her morning-room. ‘I suppose you know that Sir Kenrick’s estate is heavily encumbered?’ she said. ‘Yes,’ answered the lawyer, ‘of course that will be considered in the settlements. It will be my care to protect your interests.’ ‘Never mind my interests or the settlements, yet awhile. I want to pay off those mortgages before there is any question of settlements.’ ‘You pay them off, before you are Sir Kenrick’s wife! My dear Miss Harefield, what an extraordinary notion!’ ‘I cannot see that. My money is to release the estate sooner or later. That is an understood thing between Sir Kenrick and me. Why should I not do it before I am his wife? I, Beatrix Harefield, for him as my future husband, am surely able to pay off these mortgages.’ ‘As the title deeds are deposited with Sir Kenrick’s bankers, under an engagement to execute a formal deed when requested, anybody can pay off the mortgage,’ answered the lawyer, ‘but there is some hazard in such a proceeding. Suppose Sir Kenrick were to die before your wedding day, or were to offend you. Marriages are sometimes broken off, you know. At the church door even. Then again, suppose you were married without a settlement, and Sir Kenrick were to die without having made a will in your favour. Failing a son of yours, the estate would go to his cousin Cyril. Ah, I see that fact rather startles you,’ said the unconscious lawyer, perceiving that Beatrix paled at the mention of her lost lover’s name. ‘These are serious considerations,’ urged Mr. Scratchell. ‘I should strongly recommend you not to touch those mortgages with your little finger until you have two or three sons of your own. Why should you throw away fifty thousand pounds for Mr. Cyril Culverhouse’s ultimate benefit?’ ‘It will be for Sir Kenrick’s benefit as long as he lives.’ ‘Yes, but Sir Kenrick may not be a long-lived man. I don’t want to make you unhappy about him, but I don’t think he looks like one. And then there are the fortunes of war. He may be killed in battle. He had a narrow escape last time. It would be absurd for you to risk fifty thousand pounds upon such a life as his.’