Alice had a grand time at the Todds’; all the men fell in love with her—one in particular, a young chap named Fayette, quite threw himself at her feet. He was wealthy, but unfortunately he had made his money by eloping with a rich girl (who was one of the present party), and so, from a practical point of view, his attentions were not desirable for Alice.
Montague was left with the task of finding these things out for himself, for his brother devoted himself exclusively to Betty Wyman. The way these two disappeared between meals was a jest of the whole company; so that when they were on their way home, Montague felt called upon to make paternal inquiries.
“We’re as much engaged as we dare to be,” Oliver answered him.
“And when do you expect to marry her?”
“God knows,” said he, “I don’t. The old man wouldn’t give her a cent.”
“And you couldn’t support her?”
“I? Good heavens, Allan—do you suppose Betty would consent to be poor?”
“Have you asked her?” inquired Montague.
“I don’t want to ask her, thank you! I’ve not the least desire to live in a hovel with a girl who’s been brought up in a palace.”
“Then what do you expect to do?”