'O, I don't mean so; I don't mean just now; in this mere idle manner.—'
'O, yes, I'll do it at once, and then it will be over. Faith I don't well know. I have no great gusta for blowing out my brains. I like the little dears mighty well where they are. And I can't say I shall much relish to consume my life and prime and vigour in the king's bench prison. 'Tis horribly tiresome to reside always on the same spot. Nor I have no great disposition to whisk off to another country. Old England's a pretty place enough. I like it very well; ... with a little rhino understood! But it's the very deuce, with an empty purse. So write the letter, my dear girl.'
'And is this your consideration, Lionel? And is this its conclusion?'
'Why what signifies dwelling upon such dismalties? If I think upon my ruin beforehand, I am no nearer to enjoyment now than then. Live while we live, my dear girl! I hate prophesying horrors. Write, I say, write!'
Again she absolutely refused, pleading her promise to her uncle, and declaring she would keep her word.
'Keep a fiddlestick!' cried he, impatiently; 'you don't know what mischief you may have to answer for! you may bring misery upon all our heads! you may make my father banish me his sight, you may make my mother execrate me!—'
'Good Heaven!' cried Camilla interrupting him, 'what is it you talk of? what is it you mean?'
'Just what I say; and to make you understand me better, I'll give you a hint of the truth; but you must lose your life twenty times before you reveal it—There's—there's—do you hear me?—there's a pretty girl in the case!'
'A pretty girl!—And what has that to do with this rapacity for money?'
'What an innocent question! why what a baby thou art, my dear Camilla!'