“Ho! ho! ho! I recognize my boy in that,” said Mr. Molyneux. “I beg your pardon, but Ernest is too great a wag to be resisted. Greater diligence in the pursuit of his profession! He ought to be made Lord Chancellor on the spot for that phrase. Are you aware, my dear ma’am, that he has never done anything, that boy of mine, in the pursuit of his profession, or otherwise, since he was born?” “Am I to understand, Mr. Molyneux,” said Mrs. Eastwood, slightly tremulous with offence and agitation, “that your object is to break off the engagement between my daughter and your son?” “Nothing of the sort, ma’am; nothing of the sort,” said Mr. Molyneux cheerfully. “I have no objections to your daughter; and if it did not happen with her, it would happen with some one else. It is for both our interests, though, that they don’t do anything foolish. What they intend is that we should pay the piper----” “You must do me the favour to speak for yourself, and your son,” said Mrs. Eastwood, with spirit. “My child has no such idea. She has never known anything about such calculations; and I am sure she will not begin now.” “I beg your pardon, and Miss Nelly’s pardon,” said the great man, with an amused look. “I did not mean to reflect upon any one. But if she has not begun yet, I fear she will soon begin when she is Ernest’s wife. They can’t help it, ma’am. I am not blaming them. Once they are married, they must live; they must have a house over their heads and a dinner daily. I’ve no doubt Miss Nelly’s an angel; but even an angel, when she has weekly bills coming in, and nothing to pay them with, will begin to scheme.” “Such a thing appears to me quite impossible,” said Mrs. Eastwood, in a flutter of suppressed indignation, and then she added, pausing to recover herself, “I must say at once, Mr. Molyneux, that if this is the way in which you are disposed to look at the matter, I should prefer to end the discussion. My daughter’s happiness is very dear to me; but her credit, and my own credit, ought to be still more dear----” “My dear ma’am,” cried Mr. Molyneux, “now, tell me, as a matter of curiosity, how your credit is concerned, or why you should be angry? My point of view is that, of course, the young people mean to get as much as they can out of us----” “Perhaps your son does, sir!” cried Mrs. Eastwood, exasperated. “You ought to know him best.”