ALINE. It is a mercy to have escaped marrying a man with such a Christian name as Harrison. CROCKSTEAD. It has been in the family for generations, you know; but it is a strange thing that I am always called Harrison, and that no one ever adopts the diminutive. ALINE. That does not surprise me: we have no pet name for the East wind. CROCKSTEAD. The possession of millions, you see, Lady Aline, puts you into eternal quarantine. It is a kind of yellow fever, with the difference that people are perpetually anxious to catch your complaint. But we digress. To return to the question of our marriage-- ALINE. I beg your pardon. CROCKSTEAD. I presume that it is--arranged? ALINE. [_Haughtily._] Mr. Crockstead, let me remind you that frankness has its limits: exceeding these, it is apt to degenerate into impertinence. Be good enough to conduct me to the ball-room. [_She moves to the door._ CROCKSTEAD. You have five sisters, I believe, Lady Aline? [ALINE _stops short._] All younger than yourself, all marriageable, and all unmarried? [ALINE _hangs her head and is silent._ CROCKSTEAD. Your father-- ALINE. [_Fiercely._] Not a word of my father! CROCKSTEAD. Your father is a gentleman. The breed is rare, and very fine when you get it. But he is exceedingly poor. People marry for money nowadays; and your mother will be very unhappy if this marriage of ours falls through. ALINE. [_Moving a step towards him._] Is it to oblige my mother, then, that you desire to marry me? CROCKSTEAD. Well, no. But you see I must marry some one, in mere self-defence; and honestly, I think you will do at least as well as any one else. [ALINE _bursts out laughing._] That strikes you as funny? ALINE. If you had the least grain of chivalrous feeling, you would realise that the man who could speak to a woman as you have spoken to me-- [_She pauses._ CROCKSTEAD. Yes? ALINE. I leave you to finish the sentence. CROCKSTEAD. Thank you. I will finish it my own way. I will say that when a woman deliberately tries to wring an offer of marriage from a man whom she does not love, she deserves to be spoken to as I have spoken to you, Lady Aline. ALINE. [_Scornfully._] Love! What has love to do with marriage? CROCKSTEAD. That remark rings hollow. You have been good enough to tell me of your cousin, whom you did love-- ALINE. Well? CROCKSTEAD. And with whom you would have eloped, had your mother not prevented you. ALINE. I most certainly should. CROCKSTEAD. So you see that at one period of your life you thought differently.--You were very fond of him? ALINE. I have told you. CROCKSTEAD. [_Meditatively._] If I had been he, mother or no mother, money or no money, I would have carried you off. I fancy it must be pleasant to be loved by you, Lady Aline. ALINE. [_Dropping a mock curtsey, as she sits on the sofa._] You do me too much honour.