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Page 13
"A presumptuous young coxcomb," he muttered. "Does he think that being
'top-shearer' gives him a right to make love to Charlotte Sandal?"
In the morning he wrote the following letter:--
NEPHEW JULIUS SANDAL,--I hear you are at Oxford, and I
should think you would wish to make the acquaintance of your
nearest relatives. They will be glad to see you at Seat-Sandal
during the vacation, if your liking leads you that way. To hear
soon from you is the hope of your affectionate uncle,
WILLIAM SANDAL, _of Sandal-Side_.
He finished the autograph with a broad flourish, and handed the paper to
his wife. "What do you think of that, Alice? Eh? What?"
There was a short silence, then Mrs. Sandal laid the note upon the
table. "I don't think over much of it, William. Good-fortune won't bear
hurrying. Can't you wait till events ripen naturally?"
"And have all my plans put out of the way?"
"Are you sure that your plans are the best plans?"
"They will be a bit better than any Charlotte and Stephen Latrigg have
made."
"I don't believe they have such a thing as a plan between them. But if
you think so, send Charlotte to her aunt Lockerby for a few months. Love
is just like fire: it goes out if it hasn't fuel."
"Nay, I want Charlotte here. After our Harry, Julius is the next heir,
and I'm set on him marrying one of the girls. If he doesn't like Sophia
he may like Charlotte. I have two chances then, and I'm not going to
throw one away for Steve Latrigg's liking or loving. Don't you see,
Alice? Eh? What?"
"No: I never was one to see beyond the horizon. But if you must have
to-morrow in to-day, why then send off your letter. I would let 'well'
alone. When change comes to the door, it is time enough to ask it over
the threshold. We are very happy now, William, and every happy day is so
much certain gain in life."
"That is a woman's way of talking. A man looks for the future."
"And how seldom does he get what he looks for. But I know you, William
Sandal. You will take your own way, be it good or bad; and what is more,
you will make others take it with you."
"I am inviting my own nephew, Alice. Eh? What?"
"You know nothing about it. There are kin that are not kindred. You are
inviting you know not who or what. But,"--and she pushed the letter
towards him, with a gesture which seemed to say, "I am not responsible
for the consequences."
The squire after a moment's thought accepted them. He went into the
yard, humming a strain of "The Bay of Biscay," and gave the letter to a
groom, with orders to take it at once to the post-office. Then he called
Charlotte from the rose-walk. "The horses are saddled," he said, "and I
want you to trot over to Dalton with me."
Mrs. Sandal had gone to her eldest daughter. She was in the habit of
seeking Sophia's advice; or, more strictly speaking, she liked to
discuss with her the things she had already determined to do. Sophia was
sitting in the coolest and prettiest of gowns, working out with
elaborate care a pencil drawing of Rydal Mount. She listened to her
mother with the utmost respect and attention, and her fine color
brightened slightly at the mention of Julius Sandal; but she never
neglected once to change an F or an H pencil for a B at the precise
stroke the change was necessary.
"And so you see, Sophia, we may have a strange young man in the house
for weeks, and where to put him I can't decide. And I wanted to begin
the preserving and the raspberry vinegar next week, but your father is
as thoughtless as ever was; and I am sure if Julius is like _his_ father
he'll be no blessing in a house, for I have heard your grandmother speak
in such a way of her son Tom."
"I thought uncle Tom was grandmother's favorite."
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