“On the distaff side.”
“It is more than good enough for either of you.”
“Matter of opinion, Caroline, matter of opinion,” said Cheriton, musically.
“Your patent dates from a land-jobbing lawyer in the days of George the Second,” said the occupant of the four-poster, whose head-dress was performing surprising feats. “As for the Bettertons—who, pray, are the Bettertons?”
“A truce to family pride,” said Cheriton, mellifluously. “Let us get on with the business. I should be glad to know precisely what that sordid-minded ruffian has offered.”
“A settlement is, of course, a sine quâ non.”
“I fail to understand why it should be, seeing that the girl herself has not a penny.”
“There are always two points of view, Cheriton. And in my judgment the creature’s destitute condition renders a settlement the more imperative.”
“But one may suppose you are prepared to do something, Caroline!” said Cheriton, with a severely businesslike air that was not quite in harmony with his former altruistic bearing. “You are dooced rich, you know; you have not a soul to leave your money to; and you can’t take it with you.”
“As far as aspirants to my niece’s hand are concerned,” said Caroline Crewkerne, “my intentions in regard to her do not enter into the case. It is their intentions that are important. George has made a bona-fide offer. Do you propose to better it?”