“Why, of course she has. Don’t be a fool, Jem,” cried the baronet, angrily.
“Fool! It’s enough to make any man a fool. What does that fellow want with a wife—to take gate-money at some meeting?”
“I do wish you wouldn’t be so prejudiced, Jem.”
“To hold the tape when he’s coming in after a footrace?”
“Hang it all, Jem, do be sensible.”
“To feed him with raw steaks when he is in training?” continued the major, ironically. “To keep time, and polish his cups, and mind that he does not break the rules of his trainer? Good heavens! Jack, why, both you and Glynne must be mad.”
“Indeed!” said the baronet, hotly. “I don’t see any madness in giving my consent to my child’s accepting the son of an old neighbour, a confoundedly fine fellow, of good birth, and with four thousand a year.”
“I don’t care if he were better of birth, and had twenty thousand a year. He wouldn’t be a fit husband for our Glynne.”
“Well, no,” said the baronet, proudly. “No man would be sufficiently good for her.”
“Who’s talking nonsense now?” cried the major. “There are lots of good fellows in the world if she wants a husband, but I don’t believe she does.”