“I am, Dick, I am,” said Pratt, excitedly. “I wouldn’t have said a word if I had kept poor, but with my rising income—”
“And some one’s permission?”
“Bless her, yes; she says she hates me, and always shall, till her sister’s happy, but I may ask papa, so as to get rid of poor Flick and his persecutions. I believe the poor chap cares for her; but I can’t afford to let him have her, and make her miserable—eh, Dick?”
“Frank, old fellow, I wish you joy, and I’m glad of it, for she’s a dear little girl.”
“Oh, that don’t express it within a hundred,” said Pratt. “Dear little girl! That’s the smallest of small beer, while she’s the finest vintage of champagne. But, I say, Dick, old fellow, you’ve got to help me over this.”
“I? How?”
“She says she shall hate me till her sister’s happy; and, Dick, old fellow, there’s only one way of making Valentina Rea happy, and that you know. There—there—I’ve done. Don’t look at me like that. Fortune’s wheel keeps turning on: I shall be down in the mud again soon, and you cock-a-hoop on the top. Do you stick to your purpose of not going on to-night?”
“Yes, I shall go on in the morning from Plymouth, be present at the wedding, and then come away.”
“But you’ll go and see the old people? Dick, recollect Mrs Lloyd did all out of love and pride in her boy.”
“Yes, I have made up my mind to go and see them,” said Richard, quietly. “I’ll try and be a dutiful son.”