“Richard thinks they all want him for his money,” ventured George.
“I dare say they may. What has that to say to anything, pray? I imagine you do not mean to tell me that Richard is romantic!”
No, George was forced to admit that Richard was not romantic.
“If I live to see him suitably married, I can die content!” said Lady Wyndham, who had every expectation of living for another thirty years. “His present course fills my poor mother’s heart with foreboding!”
Loyalty forced George to expostulate. “No, really, ma’am! Really, I say! There’s no harm in Richard, not the least in the world, ’pon my honour!”
“He puts me out of all patience!” said Louisa. “I love him dearly, but I despise him with all my heart! Yes, I do, and I do not care who hears me say so! He cares for nothing but the set of his cravat, the polish on his boots, and the blending of his snuff!”
“His horses!” begged George unhappily. “Oh, his horses! Very well! Let us admit him to be a famous whip! He beat Sir John Lade in their race to Brighton! A fine achievement indeed!”
“Very handy with his fives!” gasped George, sinking but game.
“You may admire a man for frequenting Jackson’s Saloon, and Cribb’s Parlour! I do not!”
“No, my love,” George said. “No, indeed, my love!”