“I should hardly know how to propose without saying something about it.” “But you must say nothing—not a word; you must tell her that you are a gentleman of good blood and high station, but sadly out at elbows.” “She knows that already.” “Of course she does; but she must know it as coming directly from your own mouth. And then tell her that you propose to set yourself right by marrying her—by marrying her for the sake of her money.” “That will hardly win her, I should say.” “If it does not, no other way, that I know of, will do so. As I told you before, it will be no easy task. Of course you must make her understand that her happiness shall be cared for; but that must not be put prominently forward as your object. Your first object is her money, and your only chance for success is in telling the truth.” “It is very seldom that a man finds himself in such a position as that,” said Sowerby, walking up and down his sister’s room; “and, upon my word, I don’t think I am up to the task. I should certainly break down. I don’t believe there’s a man in London could go to a woman with such a story as that, and then ask her to marry him.” “If you cannot, you may as well give it up,” said Mrs. Harold Smith. “But if you can do it—if you can go through with it in that manner—my own opinion is that your chance of success would not be bad. The fact is,” added the sister after awhile, during which her brother was continuing his walk and meditating on the difficulties of his position—“the fact is, you men never understand a woman; you give her credit neither for her strength, nor for her weakness. You are too bold, and too timid: you think she is a fool and tell her so, and yet never can trust her to do a kind action. Why should she not marry you with the intention of doing you a good turn? After all, she would lose very little: there is the estate, and if she redeemed it, it would belong to her as well as to you.” “It would be a good turn, indeed. I fear I should be too modest to put it to her in that way.” “Her position would be much better as your wife than it is at present. You are good-humoured and good-tempered, you would intend to treat her well, and, on the whole, she would be much happier as Mrs. Sowerby, of Chaldicotes, than she can be in her present position.” “If she cared about being married, I suppose she could be a peer’s wife to-morrow.” “But I don’t think she cares about being a peer’s wife. A needy peer might perhaps win her in the way that I propose to you; but then a needy peer would not know how to set about it. Needy peers have tried—half a dozen I have no doubt—and have failed, because they have pretended that they were in love with her. It may be difficult, but your only chance is to tell her the truth.” “And where shall I do it?” “Here if you choose; but her own house will be better.”