On arriving at the Hall, Ellen went at once to her mother’s room, while Edward retired to the library, where he was informed that Sir Reginald was to be found. Lady Graves received the news of her daughter’s engagement kindly, but without emotion, for since her son’s death nothing seemed to move her. Sir Reginald was more expansive. When Edward told him that he was engaged to Ellen, he took his hand and shook it warmly, not, indeed, that he had any especial affection for that young man, whose tone and manners did not chime in with his old-fashioned ideas of gentlemanly demeanour, but because he knew his wealth to be large, and rejoiced at the prospect of an alliance that would strengthen the tottering fortunes of his family. Edward had always been a little afraid of Sir Reginald, whose stately and distant courtesy oppressed him, and this fear or respect stood the older man in good stead on the present occasion. It enabled him even to explain that Ellen would inherit little with as much dignity as though he were announcing that she had ten thousand a year in her own right, and, striking while the iron was hot, to extract a statement as to settlements. Edward mentioned a sum that was liberal enough, but by a happy inspiration Sir Reginald hummed and hawed before making any answer—whereupon, fearing opposition to his suit, his would-be son-in-law corrected himself, adding to the amount he proposed to put into settlement a very handsome rent-charge on his real property in the event of his predeceasing Ellen. “Yes, yes,” said Sir Reginald. “I think your amended proposal proper and even generous. But I am no business man—if I had been, things would be very different with me now—and my head for figures is so shockingly bad that perhaps you will not mind jotting down what you suggest on a piece of paper, so that I can think it over at my leisure and submit it to my lawyers. And then, will it be too much trouble to ask you to find Ellen, as I should like to congratulate her?” “Shall I go at once? I can do the writing afterwards,” suggested Edward, with an instinctive shrinking from the cold record of pen and ink. “No, no,” answered the old gentleman testily; “these money matters always worry me,”—which was true enough,—“and I want to be done with them.” So Edward wrote first and went afterwards, albeit not without qualms. The sight of his lawyer’s face when he explained to him the terms of settlement on his intended marriage, that he himself had propounded in black and white, amply justified his doubts. “I! Well, I never!” said the man of law: “they must know their way about at Rosham Hall. However, as you have put it in writing, you cannot get out of it now. But perhaps, Mr. Milward, next time you wish to make proposals of settlement on an almost penniless lady, you will consult me first.”