“Of course I am not such an ass as to expect that any gentleman should love me; and I feel that I ought to be obliged to your brother for sparing me the string of complimentary declarations which are usual on such occasions. He, at any rate, is not tedious—or rather you on his behalf; for no doubt his own time is so occupied with his parliamentary duties that he cannot attend to this little matter himself. I do feel grateful to him; and perhaps nothing more will be necessary than to give him a schedule of the property, and name an early day for putting him in possession.” Mrs. Smith did feel that she was rather badly used. This Miss Dunstable, in their mutual confidences, had so often ridiculed the love-making grimaces of her mercenary suitors—had spoken so fiercely against those who had persecuted her, not because they had desired her money, but on account of their ill-judgment in thinking her to be a fool—that Mrs. Smith had a right to expect that the method she had adopted for opening the negotiation would be taken in a better spirit. Could it be possible, after all, thought Mrs. Smith to herself, that Miss Dunstable was like other women, and that she did like to have men kneeling at her feet? Could it be the case that she had advised her brother badly, and that it would have been better for him to have gone about his work in the old-fashioned way? “They are very hard to manage,” said Mrs. Harold Smith to herself, thinking of her own sex. “He was coming here himself,” said she, “but I advised him not to do so.” “That was so kind of you.” “I thought that I could explain to you more openly and more freely, what his intentions really are.” “Oh! I have no doubt that they are honourable,” said Miss Dunstable. “He does not want to deceive me in that way, I am quite sure.” It was impossible to help laughing, and Mrs. Harold Smith did laugh. “Upon my word, you would provoke a saint,” said she. “I am not likely to get into any such company by the alliance that you are now suggesting to me. There are not many saints usually at Chaldicotes, I believe;—always excepting my dear bishop and his wife.” “But, my dear, what am I to say to Nathaniel?” “Tell him, of course, how much obliged to him I am.” “Do listen to me one moment. I daresay that I have done wrong to speak to you in such a bold, unromantic way.” “Not at all. The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. That’s what we agreed upon. But one’s first efforts in any line are always apt to be a little uncouth.” “I will send Nathaniel to you himself.” “No, do not do so. Why torment either him or me? I do like your brother; in a certain way I like him much. But no earthly consideration would induce me to marry him. Is it not so glaringly plain that he would marry me for my money only, that you have not even dared to suggest any other reason?” “Of course it would have been nonsense to say that he had no regard whatever towards your money.”