“Don't spare in fools!” returned Mr Briggs, “keeps them in plenty.”
“No, Sir, nor in any out of the way characters,” answered Morrice.
“So much the worse,” cried Briggs, “so much the worse! Eat him out of house and home; won't leave him a rag to his back nor a penny in his pocket. Never mind 'em, my little duck; mind none of your guardians but me; t'other two a'n't worth a rush.”
Cecilia, somewhat ashamed of this speech, looked towards young Delvile, in whom it occasioned the first smile she had seen that evening.
“Been looking about for you!” continued Briggs, nodding sagaciously; “believe I've found one will do. Guess what I mean;—£100,0000—hay?—what say to that? any thing better at the west end of the town?”
“£100,000!” cried Morrice, “and pray, Sir, who may this be?”
“Not you, Mr jackanapes! sure of that. A'n't quite positive he'll have you, neither. Think he will, though.”
“Pray; Sir, what age is he?” cried the never daunted Morrice.
“Why about—let's see—don't know, never heard,—what signifies?”
“But, Sir, he's an old man, I suppose, by being so rich?”