“I say, give an account of yourself; what's your business here?”
“Come, then,” replied Harry, “as you appear to be a comical old scoundrel, I don't care, for the joke's sake, if I do. I am coming to court Miss Riddle, ridiculous old Cockletown's niece.”
“Why are you coming to court her?”
“Because I understand she will have a good fortune after old Cockle takes his departure.”
“Eh, confound me, but that's odd; why, you are a devilish queer fellow. Did you ever see Lord Cockletown?”
“Not I,” replied Harry; “nor I don't care a curse whether I do or not, provided I had his niece secure.”
“Did you ever see the niece?”
“Don't annoy me, sirrah. No, I didn't; neither do I care if I never did, provided I secure old Cockle's money and property. If it could be so managed, I would prefer being married to her in the dark.”
The old peer walked two or three times through the room in a kind of good-humored perplexity, raising his wig and scratching his head under it, and surveying Woodward from time to time with a serio-comic expression.
“Of course you are a profligate, for that is the order of the day?”