"Unworthy--yes, unworthy and er--altogether dooced, d'ye see--her
whole life one of exemplary self-sacrifice and so forth, d'ye see,
Jervas--"
"Exactly, George! Julia will never marry, we know, while she has this
precious youth to pet and pamper and cherish--"
"Instead of us, Jervas!"
"Us? George, don't be a fool! She couldn't wed us both, man!"
"Why, no!" sighed uncle George. "She'd ha' to be content wi' one of
us, to be sure, and that one would be--"
"Myself, George!"
"Aye!" quoth uncle George, sighing more gustily than ever. "Begad, I
think it would, Jervas."
"Though, mark me, George, I have sometimes thought she has the
preposterous lack of judgment to prefer you."
"No--did you though!" exclaimed my uncle George, spurs jingling again.
"B'gad, and did you though--dooce take me!"
"Aye, George, I did, but only very occasionally. Of course, were she
free of this incubus Peregrine, free to live for her own happiness
instead of his, I should have her wedded and wifed while you were
thinking about it."
"Aye," sighed my uncle George, "you were always such an infernal
dasher--"
"As it is, the boy will grow into a priggish, self-satisfied
do-nothing, and she into an adoring, solitary old woman--"
"Julia! An old woman! Good God! Hush, Jervas--it sounds dooced
indecent!"
"But true, George, devilish true! Here's Julia must grow into a
crotchety old female, myself into a solitary, embittered recluse, and
you into a lonely, doddering old curmudgeon--and all for sake of this
damned lad--"
At this, stirred by sudden impulse, I thrust my head out of the window
and hemmed loudly, whereupon they halted very suddenly and stood
staring up at me, their surprised looks plain to see by reason of the
brilliant moon.
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