“Never mind,” he interrupted; “allow me to explain. I am the Earl of Wansford.”
I gave vent to an ejaculation of surprise, for the Earl was a well-known figure in the diplomatic world, and until three years ago had been British Ambassador to Russia. He smiled as he noticed my astonishment, and continued—
“I have but one daughter, who, alas! is dying. The physicians say hers is a hopeless case, and I desire that her last moments shall be made happy.”
“Ah! you want me to attend at the bedside and minister words of consolation. I am sorry I cannot——”
“No,” he snarled, “she is religious enough, and does not require you in that capacity.”
“But surely a dying person, whether prepared for the next world or not, should see a clergyman!” I said.
“True; but Muriel is insane,” he replied. “You remember what I said a minute ago, that it is only a question of money to any man?”
“What!”
“Why, marriage.”
I was puzzled. I could not comprehend his meaning.