“Neither. But don’t ask me to catalogue her charms, you shall judge for yourself. Now, my boy, I’ll tell you what I want you to do. Dick is anxious to see Teazer married. He feels himself growing old, and has been rendered uneasy lately by some kind friend telling him that he looks an apoplectic subject. He told me tonight, that on the day of his daughter’s marriage he will give her ten thousand pounds. My scheme--the scheme he thoroughly relishes--is for you to marry her, bring the money into the bank, and I’ll make you a partner.” I pulled my cigar out of my mouth, and stared at him. “Marry her!” I gasped. “Certainly,” replied my uncle. “Of course you will have to get her to love you; but that,” he added with a laugh, “is what you call in France a _fait entendu_.” “But--but--I’m not sure--I think--in fact I would rather not marry her,” I stammered. “Nay, don’t say that until you’ve seen her,” said my uncle, with a deprecating wave of the hand. “I don’t want to see her.” “My dear boy, pray consider your position. Outside of my bank you have no prospects. You _must_ admit that. I never meant you to be a clerk. The moment I received your father’s letter, the idea of a marriage between you and Theresa occurred to me, and I was delighted with a notion that could not fail to make both my brothers happy. Of course I could not unfold my scheme until I had consulted with Dick, and watched your progress. But Dick, I tell you, likes the proposal immensely, and you are now sufficiently acquainted with business to qualify you for a partnership. You have still much to learn, indeed; but you can pick the whole thing up by degrees.” “My dear uncle,” I cried, interrupting him, “I appreciate your generosity, I am overcome, at least with one view of your liberal intentions--but it is too late.” “Too late! what do you mean?” “I am already in love.” “Come, come! you are joking.” “I am already deeply in love.” “Deeply in love!” “Yes--with your daughter.” “Eh!” he exclaimed, giving a little jump in his chair, “you don’t mean--what?--in love with Conny?” I nodded. “No, no!” he cried, with great impetuosity; “that’s impossible--that’s out of the question. You can’t marry her. You’re not suited for each other. Consider, my _dear_ boy, how could you support her?” “I have considered nothing. All that I know is, I love her.” “And what does _she_ say?” “She asks for time.” “What!” he cried, lost in amazement, “have you proposed?” “Yes,” I gasped, “and she asked me to give her time.” “Does my wife know?” “I believe she does.”