“Your intentions, Cheriton, in regard to my niece Miss Perry. As she has been intrusted to my care I feel that I have a right to make this demand.”
During the pause which ensued the occupant of the four-poster adjusted her head-dress in much the same manner that a Lord Chief Justice might be expected to adjust his wig. Cheriton on his part assumed a port of dignified composure.
“I have no need to assure you, Caroline,” said he, impressively, “that my intentions, as far as your niece Miss Perry is concerned, are honorable—in the highest degree.”
“I am pleased to have your assurance, Cheriton, that that is so,” said Caroline, coolly. “George appeared to take a rather pessimistic view of them.”
“I will thank you, Caroline, not to quote that man to me.”
“I have a greater respect for George than I have ever had before. That is why I quote him. He has recently shown himself in the light of an uncommonly astute fellow.”
“Bah!” said Cheriton. “I have never disguised from myself that George would have been more successful as the proprietor of a bucket-shop than as an English gentleman.”
“George is a practical man, and in my judgment, Cheriton, that is where he has the advantage of you. For in my judgment you have never been that.”
“Thank you, Caroline. That is an advantage I am only too glad to concede to anybody.”
“If you will take my advice, Cheriton, you won’t be too ready to concede it. There is one question I intend to put to you.” The occupant of the four-poster leant forward a little from under her canopy with an aspect of the most resolute sarcasm that ever adorned the human countenance. “Do you intend to marry the girl?”