"May I ask, sir," he said, "if you are speaking from your own personal
knowledge?"
"I have just come, my lord, from Mr. Henley's house; and what I have
told you, I heard from his own lips."
There was a pause. Hugh was already inclined to think that he had
raised an obstacle to the immediate celebration of the marriage. A
speedy disappointment was in store for him. Lord Harry was too fond of
Iris to be influenced, in his relations with her, by mercenary
considerations.
"You put it strongly," he said. "But let me tell you, Miss Henley is
far from being so dependent on her father--he ought to be ashamed of
himself, but that's neither here nor there--I say, she is far from
being so dependent on her father as you seem to think. I am not, I beg
to inform you, without resources which I shall offer to her with all my
heart and soul. Perhaps you wish me to descend to particulars? Oh, it's
easily done; I have sold my cottage in Ireland."
"For a large sum--in these times?" Hugh inquired.
"Never mind the sum, Mr. Mountjoy--let the fact be enough for you. And,
while we are on the question of money (a disgusting question, with
which I refuse to associate the most charming woman in existence),
don't forget that Miss Henley has an income of her own; derived, as I
understand, from her mother's fortune, You will do me the justice, sir,
to believe that I shall not touch a farthing of it."
"Certainly! But her mother's fortune," Mountjoy continued, obstinately
presenting the subject on its darkest side, "consists of shares in a
Company. Shares rise and fall--and Companies some times fail."
"And a friend's anxiety about Miss Henley's affairs sometimes takes a
mighty disagreeable form," the Irishman added, his temper beginning to
show itself without disguise. "Let's suppose the worst that can happen,
and get all the sooner to the end of a conversation which is far from
being agreeable to me. We'll say, if you like, that Miss Henley's
shares are waste paper, and her pockets (God bless her!) as empty as
pockets can be, does she run any other risk that occurs to your
ingenuity in becoming my wife?"
"Yes, she does!" Hugh was provoked into saying. "In the case you have
just supposed, she runs the risk of being left a destitute widow--if
you die."
He was prepared for an angry reply--for another quarrel added, on that
disastrous night, to the quarrel with Mr. Henley. To his astonishment,
Lord Harry's brightly-expressive eyes rested on him with a look of
mingled distress and alarm. "God forgive me!" he said to himself, "I
never thought of that! What am I to do? what am I to do?"