"Clarissa Underwood?" asked the unsuspecting Ralph.
There did come some prick of conscience, some qualm, of an injury done, upon the young Squire as he made his answer. "No; not Clarissa;—though she is the dearest, sweetest girl that ever lived, and would make a better wife perhaps than the girl I think of."
"And who is the girl you think of?"
"She is to be found in the same house."
"You do not mean the elder sister?" said the unfortunate one. He had known well that his companion had not alluded to Patience Underwood; but in his agony he had suggested to himself that mode of escape.
"No; not Patience Underwood. Though, let me tell you, a man might do worse than marry Patience Underwood. I have always thought it a pity that Patience and Gregory would not make a match of it. He, however, would fall in love with Clary, and she has too much of the rake in her to give herself to a parson. I was thinking of Mary Bonner, who, to my mind, is the handsomest woman I ever saw in my life."
"I think she is," said Ralph, turning away his face.
"She hasn't a farthing, I fancy," continued the happy heir, "but I don't regard that now. A few months ago I had a mind to marry for money; but it isn't the sort of thing that any man should do. I have almost made up my mind to ask her. Indeed, when I tell you, I suppose I have quite made up my mind."
"She'll accept you,—of course."
"I can say nothing about that, you know. A man must take his chance. I can offer her a fine position, and a girl, I think, should have some regard to money when she marries, though a man should not. If there's nobody before me I should have a chance, I suppose."