“Sir Arthur Hodmadod,” said Mrs. Jericho, in a tone of apology for the gentleman, “is certainly a fool”—
“What of that?” asked the philosopher. “Surely the family can bear one fool—eh? Wise enough for that?”
“My dear Solomon, you know best of course. To be sure, had we been tainted with worldly ambition, there is no doubt that we might have married our children in the very heart of the peerage, but”—
“I’m quite content as matters stand,” said Jericho.
“As I say, you know best. Well, Monica informs me—and I thought, my love, I would prepare you—that Mr. Candituft intends to see you to-day; formally to ask your daughter at your hands.”
“Indeed. Well, as far as I’m concerned, I’ll give her to him with the greatest pleasure in life.”
“Don’t speak with such levity, love; don’t,” said Mrs. Jericho mildly; “marriage is not a mere bargain.”
“Certainly not. Solemn compact—very solemn compact:” and again Jericho whistled.
“Well, then, Solomon, as you consent, what do you propose to give with the dear child?”
“Give, Mrs. Jericho! I’ll give a magnificent party on the occasion. More than that, I think—nay, I’m sure that to please me and honour you—my friend the Duke”—it was thus Jericho began to speak of his Grace of St. George—“my friend the Duke will give the wench away.”