“Does your ladyship still imagine that I could be such a scoundrel?” cried Litton, in indignant tones.
The square golden eyeglass went up again.
“Excellent, Arturo, my dear boy! You would have made a fortune upon the stage in tragi-comedy. Nothing could have been finer than that declaration. Really, I am proud of you! But I should have led you a horrible life, and been ready to poison you if I found you out in deception.”
“Lady Littletown, I hope I am a gentleman,” said the visitor haughtily.
“I hope you are, I’m sure, my dear boy,” said her ladyship, smiling at him serenely. “But, as you see, I could not have put up with my money being lavished upon others; and hence I thought it better to let someone else have you.”
“But, my dear Lady Littletown—”
“Ah, tut, tut, tut! no rhapsodies, please, my sweet ingenuous Lubin. I am no Phyllis now, believe me, and all this is waste of words. There, be patient, my dear boy, and you shall have a rich wife, and she shall be as young as I can manage; but, mind, I do not promise beauty. Do you hear? Are the raptures at an end?”
“Oh yes, if you like,” he said bitterly.
“I do like, my dear boy; so they are at an end. Really, Arturo, I feel quite motherly towards you, and, believe me, I shall not rest until I see you well mated.”
“Thanks, my dear Lady Littletown,” he said; “and with that, I suppose, I am to be contented.”