And then there arose another question. Would
it not be his duty to marry,—–and,
if so, whom? He had been distinctly told that
Mary Morton had given her heart to some one, and he
certainly was not the man to ask for the hand of a
girl who had not a heart to give. And yet thought
that it would be impossible that he should marry any
other person. He spent hours in walking about
the grounds, looking at the garden and belongings
which would so probably be his own within a week,
and thinking whether it would be possible that he
should bring a mistress to preside over them.
Before he reached home he had made up his mind that
only one mistress would be possible, and that she
was beyond his reach.
On the Tuesday he received a scrawl from Mrs. Hopkins
with a letter from the lawyer—addressed
to her. The lawyer wrote to say that he would
be down on Wednesday evening, would attend the funeral,
and read his client’s will after they had performed
the ceremony. He went on to add that in obedience
to Mrs. Morton’s directions he had invited Mr.
Peter Morton to be present on the occasion. On
the Wednesday Reginald again went over, but left before
the arrival of the two gentlemen. On the Thursday
he was there early, and of course took upon himself
the duty of chief mourner. Peter Morton was there
and showed, in a bewildered way, that he had been
summoned rather to the opening of the will than to
the funeral of a man he had never seen.
Then the will was read. There were only two names
mentioned in it. John Morton left 5,000 pounds
and his watch and chain and rings to Arabella Trefoil,
and everything else of which he was possessed to his
cousin Reginald Morton.
“Upon my word I don’t know why they sent
for me,” said the other cousin, Peter.
“Mrs. Morton seemed to think that you would
like to pay a tribute of respect,” said the
lawyer. Peter looked at him and went upstairs
and packed his portmanteau. The lawyer handed
over the keys to the new squire, and then everything
was done.
CHAPTER XI
The New Minister
“Poor old Paragon!” exclaimed Archibald
Currie, as he stood with his back to the fire among
his colleagues at the Foreign Office on the day after
John Morton’s death.
“Poor young Paragon! that’s the pity of
it,” said Mounser Green. “I don’t
suppose he was turned thirty, and he was a useful man,—a
very useful man. That’s the worst of it.
He was just one of those men that the country can’t
afford to lose, and whom it is so very hard to replace.”
Mounser Green was always eloquent as to the needs
of the public service, and did really in his heart
of hearts care about his office. “Who is
to go to Patagonia, I’m sure I don’t know.
Platitude was asking me about it, and I told him that
I couldn’t name a man.”
“Old Platitude always thinks that the world
is coming to an end,” said Currie. “There
are as good fish in the sea as ever were caught”
Copyrights
The American Senator from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
