"What shall I do?"—"Yes; what will you do?"
"That is, if you marry Kate? Why, I'll come and stay with you half my time, and nurse the children, as an old grand-aunt should."
"But about—." Then he hesitated, and she asked him of what he was thinking.
"You don't mean to take that man Bellfield, do you?"
"Come, Mr. Cheesacre, that's rank jealousy. What right can you have to ask me whether I shall take any man or no man? The chances are that I shall remain as I am till I'm carried to my grave; but I'm not going to give any pledge about it to you or to any one."
"You don't know that man, Mrs. Greenow; you don't, indeed. I tell it you as your friend. Does not it stand to reason, when he has got nothing in the world, that he must be a beggar? It's all very well saying that when a man is courting a lady, he shouldn't say much about his money; but you won't make me believe that any man will make a good husband who hasn't got a shilling. And for lies, there's no beating him!"
"Why, then, has he been such a friend of yours?"
"Well, because I've been foolish. I took up with him just because he looked pleasant, I suppose."
"And you want to prevent me from doing the same thing."
"If you were to marry him, Mrs. Greenow, it's my belief I should do him a mischief; it is, really. I don't think I could stand it;—a mean, skulking beggar! I suppose I'd better go now?"