"They take delight in self-pity," said he. "You can't believe 'em under oath when they're in that mood."
"Well, granting that she will marry again," said I, rather insistently, "it doesn't follow that her parents will consent to a marriage with any one less than a duke the next time."
"They've had their lesson."
"And she is probably a mercenary creature, after all. She's had a taste of poverty, after a fashion. I imagine—"
"If I know anything about women, the Countess Tarnowsy wants love more than anything else in the world, my friend. She was made to be loved and she knows it. And she hasn't had any of it, except from men who didn't happen to know how to combine love and respect. I'll give you my candid opinion, Mr. John Bellamy Smart. She's in a receptive mood. Strike while the iron is hot. You'll win or my name isn't—"
"Fred Poopendyke, you haven't a grain of sense," I broke in sharply. "Do you suppose, just to oblige you, I'll get myself mixed up in this wretched squabble? Why, she's not really clear of the fellow yet. She's got a good many months to wait before the matter of the child and the final decree—"
"Isn't she worth waiting a year for—or ten years? Besides, the whole squabble will come to an end the minute old man Titus puts up the back million. And the minute the Countess goes to him and says she's willing for him to pay it, you take my word for it, he'll settle like a flash. It rests with her."
"I don't quite get your meaning."
"She isn't going to let a stingy little million stand between her and happiness."
"Confound you, do you mean to say she'd ask her father to pay over that million in order to be free to marry—" I did not condescend to finish the sentence.