“My dear, we will not talk upon the subject at present,” said Mrs. Jericho. “I see you are in one of your sportive humours; in one of your gay moods, when you will make merry with the happy state.”
“Quite so, my dear lady,” said Candituft. “But as you say, we will not pursue the subject. Another time.”
“By no means; better have it out at once,” said Jericho.
“Don’t name it,” said Candituft. “In fact, my good sir,” and the lover grew of a sudden cool and circumspect; “I think we had better postpone the matter till a more benignant season.”
“Mr. Candituft!” exclaimed Mrs. Jericho.
“Happily,” said the prudent suitor, “Miss Pennibacker is yet in the first blush and florescence of youth; and it may be, my dear lady, that fortune, with an amended estimate of the maiden’s merits, may find her a nobler, a richer, though not”—and Mr. Candituft endeavoured with manly fortitude to suppress his emotion—“though not a fonder husband.”
“I am sure of that,” said Mrs. Jericho; “I have every confidence in you, my dear sir; and so has Mr. Jericho.”
“Any amount of confidence,” said the Man of Money. “Any amount.”
“And as Monica has fixed her heart upon the union”—
“’Twould be a great pity,” said Jericho, determined upon his humour, “to baulk a bold intention. Why, Mr. Candituft, the young lady is such a treasure in herself, that, upon my word, I think you ought, when you marry her, to remunerate us for our loss. It has always seemed to me that certain savages—as they are shamefully called—have the advantage of us in their habits of marriage.”