"He's not that, Sir Alured. He's a handsome man, with a fine voice;—dark, and not just like an Englishman; but still I can fancy—. That's bad news for me, Sir Alured."
"I think she'll forget all about him down here."
"She never forgets anything. I shall ask her, straight away. She knows my feeling about her, and I haven't a doubt but she'll tell me. She's too honest to be able to lie. Has he got any money?"
"My cousin seems to think that he's rich."
"I suppose he is. Oh, Lord! That's a blow. I wish I could have the pleasure of shooting him as a man might a few years ago. But what would be the good? The girl would only hate me the more after it. The best thing to do would be to shoot myself."
"Don't talk like that, Arthur."
"I shan't throw up the sponge as long as there's a chance left, Sir Alured. But it will go badly with me if I'm beat at last. I shouldn't have thought it possible that I should have felt anything so much." Then he pulled his hair, and thrust his hand into his waistcoat; and turned away, so that his old friend might not see the tear in his eye.
His old friend also was much moved. It was dreadful to him that the happiness of a Fletcher, and the comfort of the Whartons generally, should be marred by a man with such a name as Ferdinand Lopez. "She'll never marry him without her father's consent," said Sir Alured.
"If she means it, of course he'll consent."
"That I'm sure he won't. He doesn't like the man a bit better than you do." Fletcher shook his head. "And he's as fond of you as though you were already his son."