“Well, madam, we shall consider of it. What do you think, Woodward, if we made a bailiff of you?”
At this moment Miss Riddle entered the room just in time to hear the question.
“The very thing, my lord; and the first capture I should make would be Miss Riddle, your fair niece here.”
“Curse me, but the fellow's a cat,” said the peer, laughing. “Throw him as you will, he always falls upon his legs. What do you think, Tom? Curse me but your suitor here talked philosophy in your absence.”
“Only common sense, Miss Riddle,” said Harry. “Philosophy, it is said, excludes feeling; but that is not a charge which I ever heard brought against common sense.”
“I am an enemy neither to philosophy nor common sense,” replied his niece, “because I think neither of them incompatible with feeling; but I certainly prefer common sense.”
“There's luncheon announced,” said the peer, rubbing his hands, “and that's a devilish deal more comfortable than either of them. Come, Mrs. Lindsay; Woodward, take Tom with you.”
They then descended to the dining-room, where the conversation was lively and amusing, the humorous old peer furnishing the greater proportion of the mirth.
“Mrs. Lindsay,” said he, as they were preparing to go, “I hope, after all, that this clever son of yours is not a fortune-hunter.”
“He need not be so, my lord,” replied his mother, “and neither is he. He himself will have a handsome property.”