There were difficulties in the pursuit of matrimony of which Mr. Prosper had not thought. His imagination at once pictured to himself a bride with a bottle of gin under her pillow, and he went on shivering till Matthew almost thought that he had been attacked by an ague-fit.
"I shall give it up, at any rate," he said, after a pause.
"Of course you're a young man, sir."
"No, I'm not."
"That is, not exactly young,"
"You're an old fool to tell such lies!"
"Of course I'm an old fool; but I endeavor to be veracious. I never didn't take a shilling as were yours, nor a shilling's worth, all the years I have known you, Mr. Prosper."
"What has that to do with it? I'm not a young man."
"What am I to say, sir? Shall I say as you are middle-aged?"
"The truth is, Matthew, I'm worn out."