“The future of our delectable Miss Goose. Now, Caroline, I want you to be practical. Be practical, Caroline, and I foresee no difficulty.”
Caroline assumed her hanging-judge demeanor. She snuffed the air as a statesmanlike preliminary. Cheriton, however, a seasoned warrior, was not to be disconcerted by little things like these.
“Now, Caroline,” said he, coolly, “no one appreciates more fully than I do the honorable character of your motives. Your first wish and your last is to do your duty by your delectable niece.”
“Don’t use so many words, Cheriton,” said Caroline, sharply. “Remember you are not wasting the time of the country, but of a private individual. I don’t need any reminder from you to do my duty by the girl.”
“Of course not, Caroline,” said the mellifluous Cheriton. “But I don’t want you to get your idea of duty unduly inflated. I want you to be reasonable. I am prepared to marry the gal—she is a sweet, good, and healthy creature, and, on the mother’s side, she will pass muster—but she is in no sense a partie; and perhaps I shall be forgiven if I feel that Cheriton House has a right to expect one.”
“Let it,” said Caroline, grimly.
“Forgive my adopting the language of a tradesman,” said Cheriton, harmoniously; “but I feel that you will experience less difficulty in understanding it. As I say, I like the girl, and I am prepared to make what in the circumstances is a good offer. You are at liberty to reject it, of course; but frankly I don’t think you can expect a better.”
“Don’t be too sure about it, Cheriton,” said Caroline, with a hawklike glint from under the bushy eyebrows.
“Oh, but I am,” said Cheriton, confidently. “George is a bad hat.”
“What do you mean?” said Caroline, sitting very upright.