“It only shows the sweet tenderness of her disposition, Claud, my dear,” said his mother.
“Yes, of course,” said his father, “but you’ll soon make her dry her eyes.”
“And she really is a very sweet, lovable, and beautiful girl, my dear,” said Mrs Wilton.
“Tidy, mother; only her eyes always look as red as a ferret’s.”
“Claud, my dear, you shouldn’t—such comparisons are shocking.”
“Oh, all right, mother. Very well; as I am such a clever, man-of-the-world sort of a chap, I’ll sacrifice myself for the family good. But I say, dad, she really has that hundred and fifty thou—?”
“Every shilling of it, my boy, and—er—really that must not go out of the family.”
“Well, it would be a pity. Only you will have enough to leave me to keep up the old place.”
“Well—er—I—that is—I have been obliged to mortgage pretty heavily.”
“I say, guv’nor,” cried the young man, looking aghast; “you don’t mean to say you’ve been hit?”