And she was thoroughly glad that this was so, for she would have
lacked the courage to oppose Sir Peregrine in anything.

On the next morning Peregrine saw his grandfather before breakfast.
His mother came to his room door while he was dressing to whisper
a word of caution to him. "Pray, be courteous to him," she
said. "Remember how good he is to you--to us both! Say that you
congratulate him."

"But I don't," said Peregrine.

"Ah, but, Peregrine--"

"I'll tell you what I'll do, mother. I'll leave the house altogether
and go away, if you wish it."

"Oh, Peregrine! How can you speak in that way? But he's waiting now.
Pray, pray, be kind in your manner to him."

He descended with the same sort of feeling which had oppressed him on
his return home after his encounter with Carroty Bob in Smithfield.
Since then he had been on enduring good terms with his grandfather,
but now again all the discomforts of war were imminent.

"Good morning, sir," he said, on going into his grandfather's
dressing-room.

"Good morning, Peregrine." And then there was silence for a moment or
two.

"Did you see your mother last night?"

"Yes; I did see her."

"And she told you what it is that I propose to do?"

"Yes, sir; she told me."

"I hope you understand, my boy, that it will not in any way affect
your own interests injuriously."

"I don't care about that, sir--one way or the other."

"But I do, Peregrine. Having seen to that I think that I have a right
to please myself in this matter."

"Oh, yes, sir; I know you have the right."

"Especially as I can benefit others. Are you aware that your mother
has cordially given her consent to the marriage?"

"She told me that you had asked her, and that she had agreed to it.
She would agree to anything."

"Peregrine, that is not the way in which you should speak of your
mother."

And then the young man stood silent, as though there was nothing more
to be said. Indeed, he had nothing more to say. He did not dare to
bring forward in words all the arguments against the marriage which
were now crowding themselves into his memory, but he could not induce
himself to wish the old man joy, or to say any of those civil things
which are customary on such occasions. The baronet sat for a while,
silent also, and a cloud of anger was coming across his brow; but he
checked that before he spoke. "Well, my boy," he said, and his voice
was almost more than usually kind, "I can understand your