"You haven't got one; it's in your money-chest"
"It might be in a woman's keeping, which is a much worse place."
Beatrice grew weary of this futile conversation, and rose. "You asked me to see you," she said, with a fatigued air; "what is it you have to say?"
"Oh yes." He seemed to arouse himself from a fit of musing. "Yes! I have found a husband for you."
Beatrice started. He announced this startling fact as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "You--have--found--a--husband--for--me?" she drawled slowly.
"Yes. You won't have my money, and I may die." He cast a look over his shoulder nervously. "I don't want to, but I may: one never knows, do they? You will be poor, so I think it best to get you married and settled in life."
"Thank you," she returned icily. "It is very good of you to take so much trouble. And my future husband?"
"Ruck! Major Ruck--Major Simon Ruck, a retired army officer, and a handsome man of fifty, very well preserved, and with a fine fortune."
"How alluring! And suppose I refuse?"
"You can't--you daren't!" He grasped her arm entreatingly. "Don't be a fool, my dear. Ruck is handsome and well off. He is coming down on Saturday to see you. This is Wednesday, so you will have time to think over the matter. You must marry him--you must, I tell you!" and he shook her arm in his agitation.