“You needn’t remind me, Matilda, that you are the daughter of a tailor.”
“In a week or two more, Elizabeth, I shall remind you that I am the wife of a nobleman’s son.”
“A younger son; don’t forget that.”
“A younger son, as you say. He finds the social position, and I find the money—half a million at my own sole disposal. My future husband is a good fellow in his way, and his future wife is another good fellow in her way. To look at your grim face, one would suppose there were no such things in the world as marriages of convenience.”
“Not at your time of life. I tell you plainly, your marriage will be a public scandal.”
“That doesn’t frighten us,” Miss Dulane remarked. “We are resigned to every ill-natured thing that our friends can say of us. In course of time, the next nine days’ wonder will claim public attention, and we shall be forgotten. I shall be none the less on that account Lady Howel Beaucourt. And my husband will be happy in the enjoyment of every expensive taste which a poor man call gratify, for the first time in his life. Have you any more objections to make? Don’t hesitate to speak plainly.”
“I have a question to ask, my dear.”
“Charmed, I am sure, to answer it—if I can.”
“Am I right in supposing that Lord Howel Beaucourt is about half your age?”
“Yes, dear; my future husband is as nearly as possible half as old as I am.”