"I don't know but I shall," said Uncle Philip.
"You really shock me!" exclaimed Mrs. Clavering.
"What is there so shocking," replied the old gentleman, "in my liking a pretty girl—ay, and in making her my wife, too, if I think proper? But that's as it may be—I have not yet made her the offer."
Mrs. Clavering breathed again. "Really, Uncle Philip," said she, "I thought you had more sense, and knew more of the world. Can you not see at once that all she wants is your money? It is impossible she could have any other inducement."
"I thank you for your compliment," said Uncle Philip, pulling up his shirt collar and taking a glance at the looking-glass.
"Is the man an absolute fool?" thought Mrs. Clavering: "what can have got into him?" Then raising her voice, she exclaimed—"Is this, then, the end of all your aversion to the French?"
"Then you should not have put the French in my way," said Uncle Philip: "it is all your own fault; and if I should play the fool, you have nobody to thank but yourself. Why did you make me go to that supper?"
"Why, indeed!" replied Mrs. Clavering, with a sigh: "but knowing how much you dislike foreigners and all their ways, such an idea as your falling in love with a French girl never for a moment entered my mind. But I can tell you one thing that will effectually put all thoughts of Miss Robertine out of your head."
"What is that?" said Uncle Philip, starting and changing colour.
"When I tell you that she is a mantua-maker," pursued Mrs. Clavering, "and in the employ of Madame Gigot of New York, you, of course, can never again think of her as a wife."