‘I have no hope of that,’ answered Edgar, a little despondently. ‘I have been loving her ever since she came home, and my love has grown stronger with every day of my life. If she likes me well enough to marry me, I am content.’ Sir Vernon remained silent for some moments, gravely contemplating the fire, as if he were reading somebody’s history in it, and that a gloomy one. ‘I am fond enough of you to be sorry you should marry on such conditions,’ he answered, after a longish pause. ‘My younger daughter is a very pretty girl—people persecuted me with compliments about her the other night—and, I suppose, a very fascinating girl; but if she does not honestly and sincerely return your love, I say, Do not marry her. Pluck her out of your heart, Edgar, as you would a poisonous weed. Be sure, if you don’t, the poison will rankle there by-and-by, and develop its venom at the time you are least prepared for it.’ Edgar, secure in his assurance of future happiness—for what man, having won Daphne, could fail to be happy?—smiled at the unwonted energy of Sir Vernon’s address. ‘My dear sir, you take this matter too seriously,’ he replied. ‘I have no fear of the issue. Daphne’s heart is free, and it will be very hard if I cannot make myself owner of it, loving her as I do, and having her promise to marry me. I only want to be assured of your approval.’ ‘That you have with all heartiness, my dear boy. But I should like to be sure that Daphne is worthy of you.’ ‘Worthy of me!’ echoed Edgar, with a tender smile; ‘I wish to Heaven I were worthy of her.’ ‘She is very young,’ said Sir Vernon thoughtfully. ‘Nineteen on her next birthday.’ ‘But that birthday is nearly a year off. I hope you will not be in a hurry to be married.’ ‘I shall defer that to your judgment; though I think, as I can never feel warmly interested in Hawksyard till I have a wife there, the sooner we are married, so far as my happiness is concerned, the better.’ ‘Of course. You young men have always some all-sufficient reason for being over the border with the lady. How will your mother relish the change?’ Poor Edgar winced at the question, feeling very sure that Mrs. Turchill would take the event as her death-blow. ‘My mother is perfectly independent,’ he faltered. ‘She has her jointure.’ ‘Has she not Hawksyard for her life?’ ‘No; the estate was strictly entailed. I am sole master there.’ ‘I am glad of that,’ said Sir Vernon. ‘It is an interesting old place.’ ‘Daphne likes it,’ murmured Edgar fatuously. ‘I suppose you know that I can give my younger daughter no fortune?’ ‘If you could give her a million, it would not make me one whit better pleased at winning her.’