"I talk of it—every one talks of it—he boasts of it himself. I was told last night by Captain Whitmore's serving-man, that his master had given his consent to the match, and that the young lady was coming round, and that Mr. Godfrey was every day at the house. Perhaps the Colonel being cooped up in jail may spoil the young man's wooing."
"In jail! Colonel Hurdlestone in jail! Can that be true?"
"Fact."
"And Mr. Godfrey? What will become of Mr. Godfrey?"
"He will become one of us, and have to take care of himself. And if he does marry Miss Whitmore, he will have enough to take care of you."
"Do you think that I would share his affections with another woman?" cried the girl, her pale cheeks flushing to crimson. "Brother, I am not sunk so low as that—not quite so low."
"You are sunk quite low enough for anything, Mary. You may be as bad as you like now, the world will think no worse of you than it does at present. You have made a bad bargain, and you must stand by it. If you cannot be the man's wife, you must rest content with being his mistress; married or single you will always be Godfrey Hurdlestone's better half. Miss Whitmore is not to compare to you, in spite of her pretty waxen face, and she is not the woman to please such a wild fellow as him. He will grow tired of her before the honeymoon is over, and you will have it all your own way."
"Juliet Whitmore shall never be his wife, nor any other woman, while I live. But, William, if he is as poor as you say he is, what use will it be to you my continuing to live with him in sin? He cannot give me money if he has none for himself."
"Hush," said the ruffian, drawing nearer, and glancing quickly round, to be certain that they were alone. "Did you never hear of the rich miser, Mark Hurdlestone?"
"Mr. Anthony's father?"