"I've made arrangements for Minnie and her husband to take care of me—and I'd like to have you with me as much as possible, Merry."
"I'll come up every week-end," Meriweather offered.
He felt he should have promised more than that—to keep the old man constant company. Yet he had not the strength to divorce himself utterly from the life at Round Hill—not with Hildegarde under that roof and with the chance of winning her.
After dinner they talked of business, and Merry heard the details of his financial future. He had not dreamed Uncle Buck had accumulated so much. He found himself protesting, when he was made to understand that he would inherit everything.
"It doesn't seem as if I ought to have all that."
"Why not? It is not in any sense a fortune. Only enough to make you comfortable if you marry."
"But I may not marry, Uncle Buck."
"Why not?"
"I am in love with a girl who isn't in love with me. If she should marry some one else—there would never be another in my life."
Silence for a long moment, then: "Don't carry constancy to the extreme, Merry. I did it. I've wanted a home—wife and children."
Meriweather shook his head. "It's Hildegarde for me, or nobody. Carew's daughter. I want you to see her. Perhaps some day I can bring her up here. You'd find her charming."
"There was a lot of talk about it at the Club," old Meriweather said, "when people learned that Louis
