"Ha! a shrewd old lawyer is bad to beat," said De Burgh, looking at his lively informant with half-closed eyes and an amused expression. "I wouldn't be too sure of your sister if I were you. Under such guidance the young lady may alter her generous intentions."
"Pray do not say such horrible things, Mr. De Burgh!" cried Mrs. Ormonde, growing very grave, even pathetic, and looking inclined to cry. "What would become of me—I mean us—if she changed her mind? 'Duke would be furious; he would never forgive me."
"Pooh! nonsense! a man would forgive a woman like you anything."
"A woman, perhaps, but not his wife," she returned, shaking her head. "But I won't think of anything so dreadful. I am quite sure Katie will never break her word; she is awfully true."
"That is rather an alarming character. You make me quite curious. What is she like—anything like you?"
"Not a bit. You know, she is only my sister-in-law. She is tall and large, and much more decided"—looking up in his face with a caressing smile.
"I understand. Not a delicate little darling, made for laughter and kisses, and sugar, and spice, and all that's nice, like you." This with an insolent, admiring look. "Not a woman to fall in love with, but useful as a wife to keep one's household up to the collar."
"Really, Mr. De Burgh, you are very shocking! You must not say such things to me."
"Mustn't I? How shall you prevent me? I am a relative, you know. You can't treat me as a stranger."
"You are quite too audacious—" she was beginning, when a slim young cornet came back from the billiard-room.