"I know that; but John Kárpáthy may marry."
Abellino burst out laughing. "You imagine my uncle to be a very amiable sort of cavalier."
"Not at all. I know very well that he stands at the very brink of death, and that his vital machinery is so completely out of order that if he does not change his diet immediately, and give up his gluttonous habits, of which there is but little hope, I regret to say, he will scarcely live another year. Pardon me for anticipating so bluntly the decease of a dear relative!"
"Go on, by all means."
"We who have to do with life assurance transactions are in the habit of appraising the lives of people, and I am regarding your uncle's life just as if it had been insured in one of these institutions."
"Your scruples are superfluous. I have no tender concern whatever for my uncle."
The banker smiled. He knew that even better than Abellino.
"I said just now that your uncle might marry. It would not be a very rare occurrence. It often happens that elderly gentlemen, who for eighty years have regarded matrimony with horror, suddenly, in a tender moment, offer their hands to the very first young woman they may chance to cast
their eyes upon, even if she be only a kitchen wench. Or it may be some old inclination which, after years and years, suddenly springs into life again, like some tenacious animal that has lain imprisoned for centuries in a coal-seam, and the ideals which at sixteen he was unable to make his own, possibly because he had other ties, he turns to again at seventy when he finds himself free again."
"My uncle has no ideals. He does not know such a word. Besides, I can assure you that such a marriage could not possibly have the usual results."