“Of course I know him best; and of course that is his object--to get as much as he can out of _me_,” said Mr. Molyneux, pausing upon the pronoun. “Since you don’t like it, I will leave the other side out of the question. I have known Ernest these eight and twenty years, and I ought to know what stuff he is made of. Now, as there are two parties to this bargain, we had better know exactly what we mean on either side. I did not want Ernest to marry now, and in case he did marry, he ought to have looked higher. I don’t mean to be unpleasant, but I should have liked him to look out--let us say brutally--for more money. He has cost a deal of money in his day; and he ought to have brought in more. It is very likely, indeed, that your views were of a similar character. In that case, instead of wrangling, we ought to agree. Miss Nelly might have done better----” “A great deal better,” said the mother firmly, and with decision. “Exactly so. At bottom we mean the same thing, though I may speak too roughly; but, like a couple of young fools, they have gone and run their heads into a net. Privately I admire your daughter very much,” said Mr. Molyneux, with a certain oily change in his tone--a confession that the present subject under treatment was not to be bullied, but required more delicate dealing; “and though I say it that shouldn’t, my son Ernest is a fine young fellow. They will make a handsome couple--just the kind of thing that would be delightful in a novel or in a poem--where they could live happy ever after, and never feel the want of money. But in this prosaic world things don’t go on so comfortably. They have not a penny; that is the question that remains between you and me.” “Nelly has five thousand pounds; and he has--his profession,” said Mrs. Eastwood, with a certain faltering in her voice. “Well, well, well,” said the wise man. “If we were all in a state of innocence, five thousand pounds would be something; and if we were a little wickeder, his profession might count; but the world is not so litigious as might be desired. My son is too grand to demean himself to criminal cases like that inconsiderable mortal, his father. And do you mean them to live in London, my dear ma’am, upon Miss Nelly’s twopence-halfpenny a year?” “Indeed, I am not so foolish,” cried Mrs. Eastwood; “beside thinking it wrong as a matter of principle. He must work, of course, before he can marry. He must have at least the prospect of a sufficient income before I should ever give my consent.” “A sufficient income earned by Ernest!” said Mr. Molyneux, with again that detestable “Ho, ho!” “Pardon me, my dear Mrs. Eastwood; but when I see how that boy has imposed upon you! No--believe me, who know him better, that if anything is to come of it, it must be done by you and me.” “I do not understand, Mr. Molyneux----”