'Am I to accept this as an overture?' said my father to his voluble cousin.
'Yes, you may, but not for myself, Austin--I'm not worthy. Do you remember
little Kitty Weadon that I wanted you to marry eight-and-twenty years ago,
or more, with a hundred and twenty thousand pounds? Well, you know, she
has got ever so much now, and she is really a most amiable old thing, and
though _you_ would not have her then, she has had her second husband since,
I can tell you.'
'I'm glad I was not the first,' said my father.
'Well, they really say her wealth is absolutely immense. Her last husband,
the Russian merchant, left her everything. She has not a human relation,
and she is in the best set.'
'You were always a match-maker, Monica,' said my father, stopping, and
putting his hand kindly on hers. 'But it won't do. No, no, Monica; we must
take care of little Maud some other way.'
I was relieved. We women have all an instinctive dread of second marriages,
and think that no widower is quite above or below that danger; and I
remember, whenever my father, which indeed was but seldom, made a visit to
town or anywhere else, it was a saying of Mrs.
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