"
"Don't you be disheartened, Harry," said his mother; "I have a better
wife in my eye for you--a wife that will bring you connection, and that
is Lord Bilberry's niece."
"Yes," said her husband, ironically, "a man with fifty thousand acres
of mountain. Faith, Harry, you will be a happy man, and may feed on
bilberries all your life; but upon little else, unless you can pick the
spare bones of an old maid who has run herself into an asthma in the
unsuccessful sport of husband-hunting."
"She will inherit her uncle's property, Lindsay."
"Yes, she will inherit the heather and the bilberries. But go in God's
name; work out that project; there is nobody here disposed to hinder
you. Only I hope you will ask us to the wedding."
"Mother," said Woodward, affectionately taking her hand and giving it a
significant squeeze; "mother, you must excuse me for what I am about
to say"--another squeeze, and a glance which was very well
understood--"upon my honor, mother, I must give my verdict for the
present"--another squeeze--"against you. You--must be kinder to Charles
and Maria, and you must not treat my father with such disrespect and
harshness.
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