“I certainly do not intend to ‘set up’ as such; but you have run away from the question. When I marry--if I do marry--it shall be as I go into heaven--if I do go there; not by purchase, not by barter, trade, or compromise. If it suits me to wed, I shall so do; if it does not suit me to do so, I shall not. I only mean to say that, in a matter so serious and solemn, I shall do precisely the same as though my uncle had sunk his three millions in the middle of Chesapeake Bay. Is that obstinacy?” “I think it is.” “You don’t mean it, Dick.” “I do.” Dick bent down in the bottom of the boat, and lighted a cigar. It was plain that he had something to say. “Would you be bought into matrimony?” demanded Eugene, a little excited. “Have a cigar, Hungerford?” “No; thank you.” “I would not be bought into matrimony. That is not the question. If your uncle had not left you a single sou, you would, in the ordinary course of events, have fallen in love, and would have married. Now, because two and a half millions depend primarily upon your doing so, you have set your teeth against it. I’m ashamed of you, Hungerford.” “If you don’t argue a legal case better than you do a matrimonial one, you will never succeed as a lawyer. You are all wrong, Dick.” “No, I’m not.” “Yes, you are. I haven’t said I should not marry.” “What you have said amounts about to that.” “I have only said that I would not be dragooned into marriage.” “But you mean to be obstinate; you mean to be on the off side.” “I do not; I only mean not to be influenced in the slightest degree by this price which has been set upon my marriage. Things shall take their natural course.” “Hungerford, if you see a pretty girl, with all wifely qualifications, you will think of what you call the ‘price,’ and give her the cold shoulder.” “No; and I have already seen the one whom you describe,” said Eugene, glancing behind him at the wake of the boat, because he did not wish to have his looks scrutinized, as he made this important declaration. “Is it possible?” “It is a fact, told in confidence, of course.” “To be sure; but I am afraid you will give her the cold shoulder.” “No.” “The thought of the ‘price’ will make you a slow wooer. You will be so fearful of selling yourself, as you call it, that you will be distant and reserved, and permit the bird to fly away from you in disgust. You will think she is going to smile upon you for your money, or you will take so much time in satisfying yourself it is not so, that she will grow cold towards you. The three millions will be like the turtle that swallowed its own head.” “The matter must take its natural course.” “You will not let it take its natural course. You cannot help being influenced by the ‘price.’ Be a little more selfish, and you will be more just to yourself and to the lady. By the way, who is she?”