"One Shimbowski for de dot marries," he acknowledged, "but eet ees not wid all weemeens. Dat ees not honor."
"Oh, of course I mean if your wife was a lady."
"Eet ees for de dot only one Shimbowski would wid all Amereecans marry," he returned with simple pride.
Miss Wentstile regarded him with a questioning look.
"I am older than my niece," she went on, "but my dot would be half a million."
The whole thing was so entirely a matter of business that perhaps it was not strange that she spoke with so little sign of emotion. Most women, it is true, would hardly come so near to proposing to a man without some frivolous airs of coquetry; but Miss Wentstile was a remarkable and exceptional woman, and her air was much that in which she might have talked of building a new house.
"Ees eet dat de wonderful Mees Wentsteele would marry wid me for all dat dot?"
Miss Wentstile took him up somewhat quickly.
"I don't say that I would, Count," she returned; "but since you've been treated so badly by my niece, I thought I would talk with you to see how the idea struck you."
"Oh, eet weell be heavenly sweet to know what we weell be mine for all dat dot," the Count asserted, bowing with his hand on his heart.