“Yes.”
“Give me her address, my dear boy; she must be everything that’s good.”
“She is,” said Dick warmly. “But why do you want her address?”
“To write and propose for her at once, sir,” said Wyatt, drawing himself up; “such a good woman ought not to remain single. She is single, of course?”
“Oh, yes,” said Dick, smiling.
“That’s right. I don’t suppose I shall get back to England for a dozen years, but I shall still be young. Let’s see; twenty-eight and twelve make forty, and that isn’t old, is it?”
“Oh, no—middle-aged.”
“You don’t think she’d mind waiting, do you, till then?”
“I can’t say,” said Dick merrily. “But, let’s see; sixty and twelve are seventy-two—would you mind waiting?”
“Ahem!” said Wyatt, clearing his throat; “five hundred pounds for you to draw upon. You can easily afford a good horse out of that.”