"She writes me word to say that she has told all her friends that I am engaged to her, and kindly presses me to make good her assurances by becoming so."
"And what has passed between you?"
"A fainting fit in a carriage and half-a-dozen kisses."
"Nothing more?"
"Nothing more that is material. Of course one cannot tell it all down to each mawkish word of humbugging sentiment. There are her letters, and what I want you to remember is that I never asked her to be my wife, and that no consideration on earth shall induce me to become her husband. Though all the duchesses in England were to persecute me to the death I mean to stick to that."
Then Sir George read the letters and handed them back. "She seems to me," said he, "to have more wit about her than any of the family that I have had the honour of meeting."
"She has wit enough,—and pluck too."
"You have never said a word to her to encourage these hopes."
"My dear Penwether, don't you know that if a man with a large income says to a girl like that that the sun shines he encourages hope. I understand that well enough. I am a rich man with a title, and a big house, and a great command of luxuries. There are so many young ladies who would also like to be rich, and to have a title, and a big house, and a command of luxuries! One sometimes feels oneself like a carcase in the midst of vultures."
"Marry after a proper fashion, and you'll get rid of all that."