“What a good fortune he left, eh, Miss Kicksey?” says my lady, with a hard, snearing voice, and a diabollicle grin.
“Yes, dear Leonora, he spoke so respectfully of your blessed husband, and seemed so anxious about you and Matilda, it was quite charming to hear him, dear man!”
“And pray, Miss Kicksey, what did you tell him?”
“Oh, I told him that you and Leonora had nine thousand a year, and—”
“What then?”
“Why, nothing; that is all I know. I am sure I wish I had ninety,” says poor Kicksey, her eyes turning to heaven.
“Ninety fiddlesticks! Did not Mr. Deuceace ask how the money was left, and to which of us?”
“Yes; but I could not tell him.”
“I knew it!” says my lady, slapping down her tea-cup,—“I knew it!”
“Well!” says Miss Matilda, “and why not, Lady Griffin? There is no reason you should break your tea-cup, because Algernon asks a harmless question. HE is not mercenary; he is all candor, innocence, generosity! He is himself blessed with a sufficient portion of the world's goods to be content; and often and often has he told me he hoped the woman of his choice might come to him without a penny, that he might show the purity of his affection.”