The unhappy gentleman, gasping for breath, drops down on a seat.
“With this fortune you could marry Cicely Seymour! The girl likes you—more fool she!”
Bertram changes colour.
“You have no right to speak of that young lady: she is your guest.”
Southwold becomes furious.
“You dare to lecture me? You infernal ass! who are only fit for a strait-waistcoat.”
Bertram shrugs his shoulders.
“You are stark staring mad!” roars Southwold; “and I tell you you are a disgrace to your family.”
Bertram smiles.
“How extremely immoral, then, to wish me to accept and administer a great property.”