He sat thinking for a time, then he got up, and said slowly:

"It shall be so, if Miss Gasgoyne will have me. And I hope it may turn
out as you wish."

Then he stooped and kissed her on the cheek. The proud woman, who had
unbent little in her lifetime, whose eyes had looked out so coldly on the
world, who felt for her son Ian an almost impossible aversion, drew down
his head and kissed it.

"Indian and all?" he asked, with a quaint bitterness.

"Everything, my dear," she answered. "God bless you! Good-night."

A few moments after, Gaston went to the library. He heard the voices
of Sir William and his uncle. He knocked and entered. Ian, with
exaggerated courtesy, rose. Gaston, with easy coolness, begged him
to sit, lit a cigar, and himself sat.

"My father has been feeding me with raw truths, Cadet," said his uncle;
"and I've been eating them unseasoned. We have not been, nor are likely
to be, a happy family, unless in your saturnian reign we learn to say,
pax vobiscum--do you know Latin? For I'm told the money-bags and the
stately pile are for you. You are to beget children before the Lord,
and sit in the seat of Justice: 'tis for me to confer honour on you all
by my genius!"

Gaston sat very still, and, when the speech was ended, said tentatively: