“Marry,” said my uncle; “yes, that, I believe, is the best thing we can do with him; and I hope now the matter is in good train—so the latest accounts say, at least.”
“Ah, indeed,” said I, endeavouring to take an interest where I really felt none—for my cousin and I had never been very intimate friends, and the differences in our fortunes had not, at least to my thinking, been compensated by any advances which he, under the circumstances, might have made to me.
“Why, Harry, did you not hear of it?” said my uncle.
“No—not a word, sir.”
“Very strange, indeed—a great match, Harry—a very great match, indeed.”
“Some rich banker’s daughter,” thought I. “What will he say when he hears of my fortune?”
“A very fine young woman, too, I understand—quite the belle of London—and a splendid property left by an aunt.”
I was bursting to tell him of my affair, and that he had another nephew, to whom if common justice were rendered, his fortune was as certainly made for life.
“Guy’s business happened this way,” continued my uncle, who was quite engrossed by the thought of his favourite’s success. “The father of the young lady met him in Ireland, or Scotland, or some such place, where he was with his regiment—was greatly struck with his manner and address—found him out to be my nephew—asked him to his house—and, in fact, almost threw this lovely girl at his head before they were two months acquainted.”
“As nearly as possible my own adventure,” thought I, laughing to myself.