“I am sorry you find me ridiculous.”
“Nay, then, it’s glad ye ought to be. By my soul, if Sylvia tempts you, man, why the devil don’t ye just succumb and have done with it? She’s handsome enough and well set up with her air of an Amazon, and she rides uncommon straight, begad! Indeed it’s a broth of a girl she is in the hunting-field, the ballroom, or at the breakfast-table, although riper acquaintance may discover her not to be quite all that you imagine her at present. Let your temptation lead you then, entirely, and good luck to you, my boy.”
“Didn’t I tell you, O’Moy,” answered the captain, mollified a little by the sympathy and good feeling peeping through the adjutant’s boisterousness, “that poverty is just hell. It’s my poverty that’s in the way.”
“And is that all? Then it’s thankful you should be that Sylvia Armytage has got enough for two.”
“That’s just it.”
“Just what?”
“The obstacle. I could marry a poor woman. But Sylvia—”
“Have you spoken to her?”
Tremayne was indignant. “How do you suppose I could?”
“It’ll not have occurred to you that the lady may have feelings which having aroused you ought to be considering?”