“Oh, I beg pardon: I beg pardon. Surely, Selina, you are not going to make a fuss over a trifle like that?”
“I did not give you permission to call me Selina.”
“Quite so. But as we are to be married, I may as well get used to your Christian name, my dear.”
“I am not so sure that we will be married,” said Mrs. Jasher stiffly.
“Oh, but we must,” cried Braddock in dismay. “I am depending upon your money to finance my expedition to Queen Tahoser's tomb.”
“I see,” observed the widow coldly, while Lucy sat quietly by and allowed the elder woman to conduct the campaign, “you want me for my money. There is no love in the question.”
“My dear, as soon as I have the time—say during our voyage to Cairo, whence we start inland up the Nile for Ethiopia—I shall make love whenever you like. And, confound it, Selina, I admire you no end—to use a slang phrase. You are a fine woman and a sensible woman, and I am afraid that you are throwing yourself away on a snuffy old man like myself.”
“Oh no! no! Pray do not say that,” cried Mrs. Jasher, visibly moved by this flattery. “You will make a very good husband if you will only strive to govern your temper.”
“Temper! temper! Bless the woman—I mean you, Selina—I have the very best temper in the world. However, you shall govern it and myself also if you like. Come,” he took her hand, “let us be friends and fix the wedding day.”
Mrs. Jasher did not withdraw her hand.