“You are not quite handsome, but there is an aristocratic, well-bred look about you that would recommend you to any lady—and I mean you to marry a lady.”
“Yes, by all means. Pray don’t find me a young person who might pass for a relative of the great Elbraham.”
“My good boy, there is no such party in the field; and if there were, I should not allow you to try and turn up that haughty aristocratic nose at her. A hundred thousand pounds, dear Arturo, would gild over a great many blemishes.”
“True, O queen!” he said, smiling.
“As I said before, let us understand one another. You must not be too particular. Suppose the lady chances to be old?”
Litton made a grimace.
“And rich—very rich?”
“That would make amends,” he said with a smile.
“I could marry you myself, Arturo,” she continued, looking very much attenuated and hawk-like as she smiled at him in a laughing way.
“Why not?” he cried eagerly, as the richly-furnished home and income opened out to his mind ease and comfort for life.