"I hope you don't mean that for flippancy, but it sounds like it."
"My dear Lascelles, a long face, a chronic groan, and the white of one's eyes are not essential to real grief."
"Well, it sounded flippant, and it jarred—jarred very much. I have felt very keenly the father's death, although, of course, the duties of my new position have compelled me to face the world with—with a due rigidity of demeanour."
"What was it you were going to say about change?"
"Well, in point of fact I—er—I was referring to—to a match that concerned you as much as myself. Of course I can't do more for you than—than the will provides, and I am glad you recognise that; but there is one thing I can do—and perhaps I ought to do it now—and it will be of great, indeed of the greatest consequence to you."
It was so unlike him to beat nervously about a subject in this way, that I watched him in speculative surprise.
"I think, you know, that you might—that in point of fact you ought to make a wealthy marriage; and I believe that such a thing is quite open to you." What was he driving at?
"Isn't it a bit early to talk of this?" I suggested.
"Under other circumstances, perhaps, it might be," he said, speaking without hesitation now that he was well under weigh; "but as it must affect your plans and movements a good deal, I have thought it desirable to broach the matter at once. I think you ought not to return to Madrid, but to remain here in London in pursuance of this object."
"And who is the object I am to pursue? What's her name?" I could not resist this little play on his awkward phrase.