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 “Damn relations!” said Mr Vincy; “I've had enough of them. I don’t want a son-in-law who has got nothing but his relations to recommend him.”

“Why, my dear,” said Mrs Vincy, “you seemed as pleased as could be about it. It’s true, I wasn’t at home; but Rosamond told me you hadn’t a word to say against the engagement. And she has begun to buy in the best linen and cambric for her underclothing.”

“Not by my will,” said Mr Vincy. “I shall have enough to do this year, with an idle scamp of a son, without paying for wedding-clothes. The times are as tight as can be; everybody is being ruined; and I don’t believe Lydgate has got a farthing. I shan’t give my consent to their marrying. Let ’em wait, as their elders have done before ’em.”

“Rosamond will take it hard, Vincy, and you know you never could bear to cross her.”

“Yes, I could. The sooner the engagement’s off, the better. I don’t believe he’ll ever make an income, the way he goes on. He makes enemies; that’s all I hear of his making.”

“But he stands very high with Mr Bulstrode, my dear. The marriage would please him, I should think.”

“Please the deuce!” said Mr Vincy. “Bulstrode won’t pay for their keep. And if Lydgate thinks I’m going to give money for them to set up housekeeping, he’s mistaken, that’s all. I expect I shall have to put down my horses soon. You'd better tell Rosy what I say.”

This was a not infrequent procedure with Mr Vincy—to be rash in jovial assent, and on becoming subsequently conscious that he had been rash, to employ others in making the offensive retractation. However, Mrs Vincy, who never willingly opposed her husband, lost no time the next morning in letting Rosamond know what he had said. Rosamond, examining some muslin-work, listened in silence, and at the end gave a certain turn of her graceful neck, of which only long experience could teach you that it meant perfect obstinacy.

“What do you say, my dear?” said her mother, with affectionate deference.

“Papa does not mean anything of the kind,” said Rosamond, quite calmly. “He has always said that he wished me to marry the man I loved. And I shall marry Mr Lydgate. It is seven weeks now since papa gave his consent. And I hope we shall have Mrs Bretton’s house.”

“Well, my dear, I shall leave you to manage your papa. You always do manage everybody. But if we ever do go and get damask, Sadler’s is the place—far better than Hopkins's. Mrs Bretton’s is very large, though: I should love you to have such a house; but it will take a great deal of furniture—carpeting and everything, besides plate and glass. And you hear, your papa says he will give no money. Do you think Mr Lydgate expects it?”

“You cannot imagine that I should ask him, mamma. Of course he understands his own affairs.”