He was as bent upon this marriage as he had ever been, more so in
fact, now that his father was out of the way. He knew that Ida
disliked him, he had known that all along, but he had trusted to time
and marriage to overcome the dislike. And now that accursed Quest had
brought about the ruin of his hopes. Ida had seen her chance of
escape, and, like a bold woman, had seized upon it. There was one ray
of hope, and one only. He knew that the money would not be forthcoming
to pay off the mortgages. He could see too from the tone of the
Squire's letter that he did not altogether approve of his daughter's
decision. And his father was dead. Like Caesar, he was the master of
many legions, or rather of much money, which is as good as legions.
Money can make most paths smooth to the feet of the traveller, and why
not this? After much thought he came to a conclusion. He would not
trust his chance to paper, he would plead his cause in person. So he
wrote a short note to the Squire acknowledging Ida's and his letter,
and saying that he hoped to come and see them as soon as ever the
doctor would allow him out of doors.
Meanwhile George, having delivered his letter, had gone upon another
errand. Pulling up the fat pony in front of Mr. Quest's office he
alighted and entered.
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