“Truly a beautiful woman.”
“That she is,” said Elbraham. “Though, for the fact of that, Marie is not to be sneezed at.”
“No, by no means,” assented Lord Henry, whose brow knit a little here. “They are very charming, and thoroughly unspoiled by the world.”
“That’s the beauty of them, Moorpark, and that’s what fetches me, my dear boy. Lord bless your heart! with my money I could have married a thousand women. I’m not boasting, Moorpark, but I can assure you I’ve stood up like a stump, and duchesses, and countesses, and viscountesses, and my lady this and my lady that, have for any number of years bowled their daughters at me, and I might have had my pick and choice,” said Elbraham—apparently forgetting in his excitement that there was a trifling degree of exaggeration in his words, for his efforts to get into high-class society had not been successful on the whole.
“I am not surprised—with your wealth,” said Lord Henry.
“Yes, I am warm,” continued Elbraham; “and the best of the fun is, that they were all ready to forget that I was a Jew. For I don’t mind speaking plainly to you: I have some of the chosen blood in my veins, though I have changed over. But that’s neither here nor there.”
“Of course not,” assented Lord Henry.
“And what I like in our beauties is, that they look as if they’d got some of the chosen blood in them.”
“Ye-e-es,” assented Lord Henry; “they are dark, with the Southern look in their complexions. But it improves them.”
“Improves! I should think it does. Why, look here, Moorpark, you saw Clotilde to-day in that plain cotton dress thing, or whatever it was?”