“How long have you known him?”
“About fifteen years.”
“And how was he introduced to you?”
“O, he introduced himself, on the strength of the old connection between the Faussets and the Felixes. It was just before he went to the University. He was very handsome, very elegant, and very much in advance of his years in manners and accomplishments. He amused and interested me, and I allowed him to come to my house as often as he liked.”
“Do you know anything about his means?”
“Nothing definite. He came into a small fortune upon his mother’s death, and ran through it. He has earned money by literary work, but I cannot tell you to what extent. If Miss Ransome marry him, I think she may as well make up her mind to keep him. He belongs to the butterfly species.”
“That is rather a humiliating prospect for a wife—rather like buying a husband.”
“That is a point for Miss Ransome to consider. I don’t think she is the kind of girl to care much what her whim costs her.”
The brown horse, panting for more work, drew up in front of Miss Fausset’s house at this juncture, fidgeted impatiently while the two ladies alighted, and then tore round to his mews.
“You’ve had a handful with him to-day, I guess, mate,” said a humble hanger-on, as Miss Fausset’s coachman stretched his aching arms. “He’s a fine ’oss, but I’d rather you drove ’im than me.”