“Quite true, Charlie,” said Arthur; “if Mr Green has ever had any doubts about the almighty dollar being the ‘ultimate end,’ he has nursed or combated his doubts in secret. Nothing has transpired to indicate any such wavering of faith.”
“Yes; it is his only standard of worth in all things material and moral,” said Charlie. “When he enters a room, you can see by his look that he is putting a price on all things in it—the carpet and curtains—the books and pretty things—even the ladies—”
“Yes,” continued Arthur; “if he were to come in here just now, it would be—Mrs Snow worth so much—naming the sum; Miss Elliott so much more, because she has on a silk gown; Mrs Elliott more still, because she is somehow or other very spicy, indeed, to-night; he would appreciate details that go beyond me! As for Rosie, she would be the most valuable of all, according to his estimate, because of the extraordinary shining things on her head.”
“The possibility of their being only imitations, might suggest itself,” interposed Charlie.
“Yes, to be sure. And imitation or not, they would indicate all the same the young lady’s love of finery, and suggest to his acute mind the idea of danger to the purse of her future possessor. No, Rosie wouldn’t have a chance with him. You needn’t frown, Rosie, you haven’t. Whether it is the shining things on your head, or the new watch and chain, or the general weakness in the matter of bonnets that has been developing in your character lately, I can’t say, but nothing can be plainer, than the fact that hitherto you have failed to make the smallest impression on him.”
“A circumstance which cannot fail to give strength to the general impression that he is made of cast iron,” said Charlie.
“Arthur, I am shocked and astonished at you,” said Rose, as soon as she was permitted to speak. “You have forgotten, Charlie, how kindly he cared for your brother when he was sick, long ago. And Harry says that his hardness and selfishness is more in appearance, than real. He has a very kind heart.”
“Oh! if you come to his heart, Miss Rose, I can’t speak for that. I have never had an opportunity of satisfying myself as to that particular. I didn’t know he had one, indeed, and should doubt it now, if we had not Harry’s authority and yours.”
“You see, Rosie, when it comes to the discussion of hearts, Charlie gets beyond his depth. He has nothing to say.”
“Especially tender hearts,” said Charlie; “I have had a little experience of a flinty article or two of that sort.”