“A lady, who had been destined by her parents to myself, though we had never, I own, been formally betrothed, became the wife of my kinsman.”
“Did he know of your pretensions?”
“I do him the justice to say he did not. He saw and fell in love with the young lady I speak of. Her parents were dazzled. Her father sent for me. He apologized, he explained; he set before me, mildly enough, certain youthful imprudences or errors of my own, as an excuse for his change of mind; and he asked me not only to resign all hope of his daughter, but to conceal from her new suitor that I had ever ventured to hope.”
“And you consented?”
“I consented.”
“That was generous. You must indeed have been much attached to your kinsman. As a lover, I cannot comprehend it; perhaps, my dear count, you may enable me to understand it better—as a man of the world.”
“Well,” said the count, with his most roue air, “I suppose we are both men of the world?”
“Both! certainly,” replied Randal, just in the tone which Peachum might have used in courting the confidence of Lockit.
“As a man of the world, then, I own,” said the count, playing with the rings on his fingers, “that if I could not marry the lady myself (and that seemed to me clear), it was very natural that I should wish to see her married to my wealthy kinsman.”
“Very natural; it might bring your wealthy kinsman and yourself still closer together.”