"She is, James," said the old gentleman,--like the sphynx, 'staring straight on with calm eternal eyes,'--"she is."
"She is, indeed, sir. I believe I may say that Miss Murray is aware of my entertaining this notion, sir--and that--that she's not displeased at it."
"Of course not, of course not, James; what girl would be displeased at the notion that a young fellow found her delightful?"
"Confound it! he won't give me a leg up, any how," said poor Prescott to himself. Then aloud, "If I could gain Emily's--Miss Murray's consent, sir, would you have any objection to me for her husband?"
"Ah, ha! ah, ha! James," laughed the old gentleman in great delight--"got it out at last, eh, my boy?--been beating about the bush this ten minutes. I saw you, I knew what was coming, but I wouldn't help you. You're not so good at this kind of business as your father would have been. The vicar would have had it all out in a minute; and if the girl's father had said no, he'd have run away with her that night. Desperate fellow Alan is--was, I mean; we're all stupid enough now! And so you want to marry Emily? and you say, if she consents, will I? If she consents?--nonsense, James Prescott! do you think I've forgotten that alphabet? or that it has changed during the last forty years? It's just the same as it was, sir, and I recollect every letter of it. You and Emily have understood each other this long time. No, I've no objection to make. I'd sooner your father's son would marry my daughter than any duke in the land. You've not much money, but I've plenty, and none to care for but her. One thing, how much are you in debt?"
"Not a sixpence."
"On your honour?"
"On my honour."
"That's enough for me! Your father knows of this."
"Not yet, sir. I haven't mentioned it to him; but--"