“Yes, but we know very well that they’re nothing of the sort,” he retorted, with a laugh. “Heaven knows I’m not in the least mercenary, but I don’t think any man can make my daughter happy on a penny less than two thousand a year. It’s not love in a cottage, it’s not love in a palace, it’s just matrimony in Onslow Gardens.”
He meditated for a moment or two, and slapped his knee.
“I promise you that Winnie shall break her foolish engagement with this ridiculous counter-jumper, and what’s more, she shall marry Wroxham. People must get up early in the morning if they want to get the better of Theodore Spratte.”
“Well, you’ll need some very skilful diplomacy to achieve all that,” smiled Mrs. Fitzherbert.
“The worst of it is, that though I rack my brains I can’t think of any scheme that seems to promise the least measure of success.”
Mrs. Fitzherbert looked at him, and her common-sense suggested to her certain obvious facts. She smiled again.
“Has Winnie seen the young man’s relations yet?” she asked.
“I think not. Sophia tells me she’s going down to Peckham to-morrow.”
“Didn’t you say that Mr. Railing’s mother was the widow of a coal-heaver? I wonder what she’s like.”
“His sister teaches in a Board School.”