“I’ve just told you that I do not mean to be,” said Barclay shortly. “No hundred from me, Sir Matthew.”
“What, not if the matter were settled, and it was a case of post-horses, Dover, Continent, and a wedding abroad?”
“With some penniless girl,” growled Barclay.
“With a lady of property and title, sir. Hush! be quiet—On my soul, Barclay. It’s all right and settled. A rich marriage.”
“Stuff, sir! If it were a rich marriage you would not need money.”
“Preliminary expenses, dear boy. I can’t ask her to pay the postboys.”
Barclay looked at him keenly.
“Is this a fact?”
“Yes; to-night, sir. Honour bright. Don’t spoil sport, Barclay.”
The money-lender pursed up his lips and twisted a pen in his fingers for a few moments.