"Preferred! humph—good matches must have been growing on the trees out there. Well, well, well," looking fixedly at his son, "there's as good fish in the sea as ever were caught—why not fall back on Katie?"
"It has not come to that yet, sir—and I would sooner, if it was all the same to you, fall back on a loaded revolver."
"She has the mischief's own temper, I allow—but what a property! However, you need not look for money—a pretty, lively English girl, that wears her own hair and complexion, and that can sing a song or two, and get out of a carriage like a gentlewoman—that's the style! Eh, Gilbert?"
"I suppose so, sir," rejoined his son gloomily; "but as the Irishman said, 'You must give me a long day—a long day, your honour.'"
"And the old savage replied—I remember it perfectly—'I'll give you till to-morrow, the twenty-first of June, the longest day in the year!' And your shrift shall be a short one, my boy! What are you going to do with yourself to-morrow?"
"Do you mean that you would marry me off within the next twelve hours?"
"No, you young stupid."
"Oh, well, I want to look in at the Academy and a couple of clubs, and in the evening I'm going to dine with the Durands senior, and do a theatre afterwards with the Durands junior."
"Oh!—Mary and her husband. Mary is a sensible woman. I want to talk to her. Ask her to dine—say Thursday? Mary has her head screwed on the right way. I shall consult her about you, Master Gilbert. I'll see what she advises about you. She shall help me to put the noose round your neck."
"The noose, indeed," repeated his son in a tone of melancholy sarcasm.