India or China. Though he is an old man, he might marry a Contadina or a Ranee or a Geisha at any moment and have troops of children. Now, darling, remember what I've always told you about Hilda Antrobus. She has simply heaps of money—not tied up at all. Her solicitor is a great friend of your Uncle Philip and told her this in confidence. She has not changed at all in all these years. She has practically owned to me that she would accept you—at least, of course, not in so many words, but she has owned to me as plainly as a modest girl can that she likes you. She has refused dozens of offers. She simply won't look at anyone else. Now, my own treasure, I am asking her for the twenty-seventh, and I want you to come too. I am sure when you see her again you will think she has greatly improved in looks. And she has a really lovable nature, so noble and unselfish. The man who gets her will be very lucky. It isn't as if you were likely to fall in love, my precious treasure; and esteem and respect and affection are really better for getting married on than this wild love we hear so much about. Especially when joined to a handsome income, so that no sordid worries can interfere with your happiness. Write to me at once and tell me that for once you'll be guided by my advice. I don't want you to promise anything. Just come and meet her. That's all I ask.
"Your affectionate mother,
"Estelle Rochester."
John Rochester read the letter twice before he took up his pen. But, once started, that pen travelled smoothly over several pages of his uncle's special hand-made paper with the little coat-of-arms in the corner. The pen dealt with the weather, with the writer's health, with Uncle James's health, with Uncle James's journey to Spain, with the object of that journey; and so to the obligation which the writer was under to occupy Uncle James's house till Uncle James's return. On the last page, which was the sixth, the pen was driven to say:
