“He’s so obstinate—very obstinate; it’s easy to see that. And he seems to think,” she went on, “that a girl in your daughter’s position can be married from one day to the other—with a ring and a new frock—like a housemaid.” “Well that, of course, over there is the kind of thing. But he seems really to have a most extraordinary fortune, and every one does say they give their women _carte blanche_.” “_Carte blanche_ is not what Barb wants; she wants a settlement. She wants a definite income,” said Lady Canterville; “she wants to be safe.” He looked at her rather straight. “Has she told you so? I thought you said—” And then he stopped. “I beg your pardon,” he added. She didn’t explain her inconsequence; she only remarked that American fortunes were notoriously insecure; one heard of nothing else; they melted away like smoke. It was their own duty to their child to demand that something should be fixed. Well, he met this in his way. “He has a million and a half sterling. I can’t make out what he does with it.” She rose to it without a flutter. “Our child should have, then, something very handsome.” “I agree, my dear; but you must manage it; you must consider it; you must send for Hardman. Only take care you don’t put him off; it may be a very good opening, you know. There’s a great deal to be done out there; I believe in all that,” Lord Canterville went on in the tone of a conscientious parent. “There’s no doubt that he _is_ a doctor—in some awful place,” his wife brooded. “He may be a pedlar for all I care.” “If they should go out I think Agatha might go with them,” her ladyship continued in the same tone, but a little disconnectedly. “You may send them all out if you like. Goodbye!” The pair embraced, but her hand detained him a moment. “Don’t you think he’s greatly in love?” “Oh yes, he’s very bad—but he’s a sharp little beggar.” “She certainly quite likes him,” Lady Canterville stated rather formally as they separated. IV