Mr. Ash was engaged with a file of correspondence, from which he looked up at Mr. Ely, with a laugh.
"I have to get through all this before I can put in an appearance in the House. And here's a man who gives me so many minute directions about what he wants to do that I can't for the life of me understand what it is he wants. Why people can't just say 'Buy this,' 'Sell that,' is more than I can tell. But what's the matter? You look quite glum."
"So would you look glum if you had as much cause for looking glum as me."
"I don't know! You've won one of the prettiest girls in England--and one of the nicest little fortunes, too. After that it would take something to make me look glum."
"She's one of the prettiest girls in England."
"There's no mistake about that. Any man might be proud of such a prize. I've been thinking about it all night."
"I've been thinking about it, too."
"And the result is to give you that dyspeptic look? Not flattering to her, eh?"
There was a pause before Mr. Ely answered. With much deliberation he put his hand into his pocket and drew out his letter-case. "I'm sorry you don't think it's flattering." Another pause before he spoke again; then it was with an even more acidulated expression of countenance. "I have received a letter by this morning's post."
"No! From her? She's going it."