Domestic fiction; England -- Fiction; Fathers and sons -- Fiction; Inheritance and succession -- Fiction
"Then I know there is." Upon this encouragement Ralph told his father
that on his two last visits to London he had seen a girl whom he
thought that he would like to ask to be his wife. He had been at
Fulham on three or four occasions,--it was so he put it, but his
visits had, in truth, been only three,--and he thought that this
niece of Sir Thomas Underwood possessed every charm that a woman need
possess,--"except money," said Ralph. "She has no fortune, if you
care about that."
"I don't care about money," said the Squire. "It is for the man to
have that;--at any rate for one so circumstanced as you." The end
of all this was that Ralph was authorised to please himself. If he
really felt that he liked Miss Bonner well enough, he might ask her
to be his wife to-morrow.
"The difficulty is to get at her," said Ralph.
"Ask the uncle for his permission. That's the manliest and the
fittest way to do it. Tell him everything. Take my word for it he
won't turn his face against you. As for me, nothing on earth would
make me so happy as to see your children. If there were a dozen, I
would not think them one too many. But mark you this, Ralph; it will
be easier for us,--for you and me, if I live,--and for you without
me if I go, to make all things clear and square and free while the
bairns are little, than when they have to go to school and college,
or perhaps want to get married."
"Ain't we counting our chickens before they are hatched?" said Ralph
laughing.
When they parted for the night, which they did not do till after the
Squire had slept for an hour on his chair, there was one other speech
made,--a speech which Ralph was likely to remember to the latest day
of his life. His father had taken his candlestick in his right hand,
and had laid his left upon his son's collar. "Ralph," said he, "for
the first time in my life I can look you in the face, and not feel a
pang of remorse. You will understand it when you have a son of your
own. Good-night, my boy." Then he hurried off without waiting to hear
a word, if there was any word that Ralph could have spoken.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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