"When she is getting her things, her trousseau,—I want her to have every earthly thing she can possibly fancy," he says, at last, desperately. "Can't you manage that for me? Do; and make any use you like of this."
He flings a cheque-book into her lap through the open window as he speaks.
"She shall have everything she wants," says Clarissa; "but I don't think"—taking up the book—"we shall require this."
"Nevertheless, keep it. You must want it; and don't mention me in the matter at all. And—look here again—what do you think she would like as a wedding-present?"
Of course he has given her long ago the orthodox engagement ring, the locket, the bracelet, and so forth.
"Why don't you ask her?" says Miss Peyton.
"Because the other day she said she adored surprises. And I am sure she doesn't care about being asked what she likes."
"You have your mother's diamonds."
"Oh, of course"—airily—"all my mother's things will be hers; that goes without telling; but I hate old rubbish. I want to give her something from myself to wear on her marriage morning. Don't you see? or is it that you grow imbecile in your old age, my good Clarissa?"
"No; it only means that you are growing extravagant in your dotage, my good Dorian. Well, mention something, that I may object to it."