"Well, you for it!" said Miss Tyler, with a shrug, "but, for my part, love has nothing to do with it. And if it has, it is quite as easy to love the rich man as poor man, and much more sensible in the end."
"In effect, you would sell yourself for money?"
"And you would sell yourself for love; it is all the same—only, your consideration rarely lasts: the man makes no effort to keep it. It is different with money, vastly different."
"I fear we are making a poor impression on Sir Edward," said Miss Marbury. "He will think you mercenary, and me a sentimentalist."
"He flung the bone—he is responsible!" Miss Tyler laughed.
"I did," said he—"and I was vastly entertained. Shall I fling another?"
"Not this evening, my good sir," said Miss Tyler. "Perhaps you will decide the vexed question for us—mercenary or sentimentalist?"
"Never, oh, never! Pray excuse me! Ladies, I beg of you——"
"It would serve you right if we did not," Miss Marbury broke in. "Have a piece of chicken?"
"Yes, yes! Two pieces, if you wish—I'll eat anything rather than decide between you!" he averred.