Cliff. It was, sir.
Sir C. In looking over the writings Alscrip has sent me, preparatory to his daughter's settlement, I find mention of a conveyance from a Sir William Charlton, of Devonshire. Was he a relation?
Cliff. My grandfather, sir: The plunder of his fortune was one of the first materials for raising that of Mr. Alscrip, who was steward to Sir William's estate, then manager of his difficulties, and lastly his sole creditor.
Sir C. And no better monopoly than that of a needy man's distresses. Alscrip has had twenty such, or I should not have singled out his daughter to be Lord Gayville's wife.
Cliff. It is a compensation for my family losses, that in the event they will conduce to the interest of the man I most love.
Sir C. Heyday, Clifford!—take care—don't trench upon the Blandish—Your cue, you know, is sincerity.
Cliff. You seem to think, sir, there is no such quality. I doubt whether you believe there is an honest man in the world.
Sir C. You do me great injustice—several—several—and upon the old principle that—"honesty is the best policy."—Self-interest is the great end of life, says human nature—Honesty is a better agent than craft, says proverb.
Cliff. But as for ingenuous, or purely disinterested motives——