“This is a lovely place,” said Richard, looking round. “None of the jar and discord of lawsuits here!”
But there was other trouble.
“I tell you what, my dear girl,” said Richard, “when I get affairs in general settled, I shall come down here, I think, and rest.”
“Would it not be better to rest now?” I asked.
“Oh, as to resting now ,” said Richard, “or as to doing anything very definite now , that’s not easy. In short, it can’t be done; I can’t do it at least.”
“Why not?” said I.
“You know why not, Esther. If you were living in an unfinished house, liable to have the roof put on or taken off—to be from top to bottom pulled down or built up—tomorrow, next day, next week, next month, next year—you would find it hard to rest or settle. So do I. Now? There’s no now for us suitors.”
I could almost have believed in the attraction on which my poor little wandering friend had expatiated when I saw again the darkened look of last night. Terrible to think it had in it also a shade of that unfortunate man who had died.
“My dear Richard,” said I, “this is a bad beginning of our conversation.”
“I knew you would tell me so, Dame Durden.”
“And not I alone, dear Richard. It was not I who cautioned you once never to found a hope or expectation on the family curse.”