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He had been unable to wait, and had wasted everything, nearly everything; had, at any rate, ruined all his hopes before he was seven-and-twenty; and yet, now, at seven-and-twenty, it was, as his lawyer assured him, all his own. How nearly had he lost it all! How nearly had he married the breeches-maker's daughter! How close upon the rocks he had been.
Of course he said nothing to Clarissa; but should Ralph come to him there could be but one answer. Such had been the state of his mind before Mr. Neefit's visit. But the breeches-maker's tale had altered the aspect of things very greatly.
Then Sir Thomas unlocked the box, and gradually surrounded himself with the papers which he took from it. It was past one o'clock before he again began to think what he had better do to put Ralph Newton on his legs, and to save him from marrying the breeches-maker's daughter.
Neefit did not at once tell him that Moggs was walking with her, but such was the fact. Just at five o'clock Moggs had presented himself at the cottage, knowing very well, sly dog that he was, the breeches-maker's hour of return, which took place always precisely at four minutes past six, and boldly demanded an interview with Polly.
Were Ralph's affairs, indeed, in such disorder as to make it necessary for him to abandon the great prospect of being Newton of Newton? If the breeches-maker's twenty thousand would suffice, surely the thing could be done on cheaper terms than those suggested by the old Squire, and done without the intervention of Polly Neefit!
Poulain had never had occasion to blush for the mother whom he revered; and this sublime love of hers more than atoned for a defective education. The breeches-maker's business sold for about twenty thousand francs, and the widow invested the money in the Funds in 1820. The income of eleven hundred francs per annum derived from this source was, at one time, her whole fortune.
Sir Thomas would of course say unpleasant words to him, and of course he would be unable to answer them. There was no ground for hoping anything, unless indeed he could make himself happy in a snug little box in a hunting country, with Polly Neefit for his wife, living on the interest of the breeches-maker's money.
He had actually gone down to Hendon to offer himself as a husband to the breeches-maker's daughter. It is true he had hitherto escaped in that quarter also, or, at any rate, had not as yet committed himself. But the train of incidents and thoughts which had induced him to think seriously of marrying Polly, had made him aware that he could not propose marriage to Sir Thomas Underwood's daughter.
Ralph had made his bed, and he must lie upon it. Sir Thomas had done what he could, but it had all amounted to nothing. There was this young man a beggar, but for this reversion which he had now the power of selling. As for that mode of extrication by marrying the breeches-maker's daughter, that to Sir Thomas was infinitely the worst evil of the two.
It so happened that Sir Thomas never had heard of Mr. Neefit. "Well; he is a tradesman in Conduit Street. He has a daughter, and he will give her twenty thousand pounds." "You don't mean to run away with the breeches-maker's daughter?" ejaculated Sir Thomas. "Certainly not. I shouldn't get the twenty thousand pounds if I did."
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