“I know he did. The old curmudgeon meant I should sell Nora, and he has a son, a gentleman commoner at Cambridge, that spends more in wine-parties than our whole income.”
“But it 's his own, George. It is not our money he is wasting.”
“Of course it is not; but does that exempt him from all comment? Not that it matters to us, however,” added he, in a lighter tone. “Sit down, and try what you can do with the old fellow. You used to be a great pet of his once on a time.”
“Yes, he went so far as to say that if I had even twenty thousand pounds, he did n't know a girl he 'd rather have for a daughter-in-law.”
“He did n't tell you that, Ju?” said L'Estrange, growing almost purple with shame and rage together.
“I pledge you my word he said it.”
“And what did you say? What did you do?”
“I wiped my eyes with my handkerchief, and told him it was for the first time in my life I felt the misery of being poor.”
“And I wager that you burst out laughing.”
“I did, George. I laughed till my sides ached. I laughed till he rushed out of the room in a fit of passion, and I declare, I don't think he ever spoke ten words to me after.”