“Anything you may say to us will be sacred, you may be sure,” Mrs. Pimpernel said, with breathless interest; and Alice looked up appealingly in his face. They were quite tremulous with expectation, looking for some romance of real life, something more exciting than gossip. Arthur Arden could scarcely restrain the impulse to mystify them at least; but he remembered that it might be dangerous, and refrained.
“No,” he said, with a sigh, shaking his head, “not even to you. If it were my own secret you should have it fast enough; but I must not betray another’s. No, no. And poor Edgar is an excellent fellow--as good a fellow as ever breathed.”
Mrs. Pimpernel shot a lively glance across him at her daughter, who replied to it quickly enough, though she was not over-bright. “Depend upon it, there is some flaw in Edgar Arden’s title,” was Mrs. Pimpernel’s comment that evening when she repeated the conversation to her husband. “Depend upon it, all’s not right there. I never saw anything written more plainly on a man’s face.”
“Then you must have seen fool written after it,” said Mr. Pimpernel. “Stuff and nonsense! This fellow Arden is very well up to most things. He knows what he’s about, does Arden; and so he should, if he’s making up to your daughter, Mrs. Pimpernel.”
“I wish you would not be so coarse,” said the lady. “Making up! There is nothing of the sort. He is an agreeable sort of man, and knows everybody; though, if there was anything in this story, Alice might do worse. It would be very nice to have her settled so near us. And Arden is a good name; and I must say, if there is one thing I am partial to, it is a good family. Though you never will acknowledge it, or give any weight to it, it is well known my grandmother was a Blundell----”
“I don’t know anything about your grandmother; but I shan’t give your daughter, if I can help it, to a fellow who has nothing. Why don’t he get his appointment? Or, if he wants to marry, let him marry his cousin, and get her share of the property. That would be the sensible thing to do.”
“He would not look at his cousin, take my word for it,” said Mrs. Pimpernel. “He has more sense than that at least. A proud, stuck-up thing, as vain of her family---- As if it was any virtue of hers to belong to an old family! She wasn’t consulted about it. For my part, I’d rather be like Alice, well brought up, with a father and mother she has no reason to be ashamed of, than Clare Arden, with all her mysteries and nonsense. I should indeed; and that is a deal for me to say that am partial to old families. But, if you had a chance, you might just question Arthur Arden a little, and see what he means by it. I don’t see why he should sacrifice himself. And if there should be anything in it, to have Alice settled so near us, on such a pretty property----”