“Yes, but there is, though, and very considerable, too. He has been living in the house with those girls,—clever and shrewd girls, too. He is more at his ease there than elsewhere. They listen patiently to his tiresome prairie stories, and are indulgent to all his little 'escapades'—as a 'ranchero;' in a word, he is a hero there, and never leaves the threshold without losing some of the charms of the illusion.”
“And you saw all this?”
“Yes.”
“And suffered it?”
“Yes. What would you have me do? Had there been only one girl in the case—I might have married her. But it is only in botany, or the bay of that name, that the English permit polygamy.”
“I am very sorry to hear this,” said Meek, gravely.
“I am very sorry to have it to tell, Meek,” said the other.
“He might marry so well!” muttered Meek, half in soliloquy.
“To be sure he might; and in good hands—I mean in those of a man who sees his way in life—cut a very fair figure, too. But it won't do to appear in London with a second or third rate woman, whose only recommendation is the prettiness that has fascinated 'Castle balls' in Dublin.”
“Let us talk over this again, Linton,” said Meek, arranging his papers, and affecting to be busied.