“Be just like you. But a nice letter I’ve had from John Garstang about that mortgage. Never mind, though; once this is over I can snap my fingers at him. So be as civil as you can; and I suppose we must give him some of the best wine.”
“Yes, dear, and have out the china dinner service.”
“Of course. But I wish you’d put him into a damp bed.”
“Oh, James, dear! I couldn’t do that.”
“Yes, you could; give him rheumatic fever and kill him. But I suppose you won’t.”
“Indeed I will not, dear. There are many wicked things that I feel I could do, but put a Christian man into a damp bed—no!”
“Humph! Well, then, don’t; but I hope that boy will be careful and not scare Kitty.”
“What, Claud? Oh, no, my dear, don’t be afraid of that. My boy is too clever; and, besides, he’s beginning to love the very ground she walks on. Really, it seems to me quite a Heaven-made matter.”
“Always is, my dear, when the lady has over a hundred thousand pounds,” said Wilton, with a grim smile; “but we shall see.”