It was impossible to help laughing, and Mrs. Harold Smith did laugh. “Upon my word, you would provoke a saint,” said she.
“I am not likely to get into any such company by the alliance that you are now suggesting to me. There are not many saints usually at Chaldicotes, I believe;—always excepting my dear bishop and his wife.”
“But, my dear, what am I to say to Nathaniel?”
“Tell him, of course, how much obliged to him I am.”
“Do listen to me one moment. I daresay that I have done wrong to speak to you in such a bold, unromantic way.”
“Not at all. The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. That’s what we agreed upon. But one’s first efforts in any line are always apt to be a little uncouth.”
“I will send Nathaniel to you himself.”
“No, do not do so. Why torment either him or me? I do like your brother; in a certain way I like him much. But no earthly consideration would induce me to marry him. Is it not so glaringly plain that he would marry me for my money only, that you have not even dared to suggest any other reason?”
“Of course it would have been nonsense to say that he had no regard whatever towards your money.”
“Of course it would—absolute nonsense. He is a poor man with a good position, and he wants to marry me because I have got that which he wants. But, my dear, I do not want that which he has got, and therefore the bargain would not be a fair one.”