“Mr. Jericho”—and Candituft thought he would assert the nobility of the blood in the grounds of Cressy and Agincourt—“Mr. Jericho, I do not come to deal with you for your daughter, as I would come to a grazier for”—
“What!” cried Jericho, jumping to his feet.
“I mean, desirous of maintaining Miss Pennibacker in that sphere which she was born to delight and illustrate, I must ask—you force me to be plain—what will you give with the young lady?”
“Not a farthing,” cried Jericho. “Not one farthing,” said the Man of Money with determined emphasis.
At this moment, quite casually, Mrs. Jericho entered the room. Seeing the stern looks of Jericho, the rebuked aspect of Candituft, she innocently inquired “What is the matter?”
“Pooh! you know well enough,” cried Jericho, “Mr. Candituft wants to marry Nic.”
“I was certainly aware of the honourable object of Mr. Candituft’s ambition,” said Mrs. Jericho.
“But that’s not all,” cried the Man of Money, “he wants to be handsomely paid for the trouble.”
“Paid!” exclaimed the lady.
“Why, that’s the plain thing. Paid. He wants a dowry.”