"You understand my position, Mr. Hilton—that I am a penniless man?"
"I understand, my lord, what a nobleman's ruin means. I will assume the worst—that your debts are immense, the Jews outrageous, the creditors flint, that you have obligations, hungry relations and the like, and still I make you the offer I made you a year ago."
Lord Lyndwood flushed faintly.
"I have come to accept it, Mr. Hilton."
The elder man rose abruptly.
"I thought," he said, in a soft tone, "that it could be only a question of time, my lord."
The Earl was now on his feet, too.
"Let us put this matter formally," he said, and his grey eyes were afire. "I request the honour of your daughter's hand in marriage. Now is it Yes?"
The colour had deepened in his face, and the knot of the black silk cravat on his breast rose and fell quickly; but for that he had the appearance of complete composure.
"It is Yes, my lord," answered Mr. Hilton. "From this moment Lavinia is your betrothed wife"—he uttered the words as if they gave him intense pleasure, and repeated them—"your betrothed wife."