"Morton is dead?"
"Yes; he died in San Francisco, months ago."
"I couldn't have known that, Lucy; could I?"
"Don't be a fool! What difference would it have made? Don't pretend anything so false. It would be disgusting on the very face of it. It mattered nothing to you whether he lived or died. When is it to be?"
"When is what to be?"
"Your marriage with this ill-looking young woman, who has got money, but whom you do not even pretend to love."
It struck even George that this was a way in which Emily Hotspur should not be described. She had been acknowledged to be the beauty of the last season, one of the finest girls that had ever been seen about London; and, as for loving her,—he did love her. A man might be fond of two dogs, or have two pet horses, and why shouldn't he love two women! Of course he loved his cousin. But his circumstances at the moment were difficult, and he didn't quite know how to explain all this.
"When is it to be?" she said, urging her question imperiously.
In answer to this he gave her to understand that there was still a good deal of difficulty. He told her something of his position with Captain Stubber, and defined,—not with absolute correctness,—the amount of consent which Sir Harry had given to the marriage.
"And what am I to do?" she asked.