The old lady was as grave and solemn over her cynicisms as a bishop over the expounding of the creed. Jeffray was not a little surprised at receiving such strange and ominous advice.
“Frankly, madam,” he said, “I must confess that I look for better things for Jilian and myself.”
The Lady Letitia was stern as some ancient druidess.
“Do not hope for anything in this life, sir,” she said; “take pleasure as it comes, and make the most of it. Do not be deceived by sentimental notions of propriety, and do not count on the future, for our expectations generally turn out to be ridiculous. Drink the wine in the cup, sir, and don’t plot for the morrow. And stick to your money, Richard; for whatever poets may say, money is the only sure friend in this world.”
The Lady Letitia’s philosophy was not vastly cheering to her nephew’s spirit, but then the sordid truth is never welcome to the ardent soul of youth. He pitied her for the poverty of her sentiments, and yet felt uncomfortably conscious all the while that there was much shrewd wisdom in her words. His money, yes! Would Miss Jilian Hardacre have loved him if he had been without a penny? Would Sir Peter have waxed so amiable and hearty? Would the rough boors touch their hats to him and the farmers wax obsequious in his presence? Richard smiled somewhat sadly over these thoughts, like a man finding his creed light in the balance. Yet there was Dick Wilson, the rough knave whose tongue was clumsy. Jeffray believed in him. And Bess? Why should he think of Bess at such a moment? Bess Grimshaw was inclined to pout and quarrel with his wealth because—and Richard flushed at the conviction—because his gentility threw up a barrier between them. Jeffray had never contrasted Miss Jilian and the forest child in this bright light before.
The morning after his talk with Aunt Letitia, Jeffray walked in his garden and watched the spring flowers that were spearing through the brown earth in the borders. The snowdrops had melted away, and gaudy crocuses, purple and gold, blazed beyond the hedges of close-clipped box. Hyacinths were thrusting up, tulips spreading their stout leaves. On the lawns below the terrace daffodils were nodding in the wind, lighting the sombreness of the yews and cedars.