It was a long, wordy, ill-written rigmarole, in which that amorous gentleman spoke with much rapture of his love and devotion for Miss Gresham; but at the same time declared, and most positively swore, that the adverse cruelty of his circumstances was such, that it would not allow him to stand up like a man at the hymeneal altar until six thousand pounds hard cash had been paid down at his banker's.
"It may be all right," said the squire; "but in my time gentlemen were not used to write such letters as that to each other." The doctor shrugged his shoulders.

He did not know how far he would be justified in saying much, even to his friend the squire, in dispraise of his future son-in-law.
"I told him that he should have the money; and one would have thought that that would have been enough for him.

Well: I suppose Augusta likes him.

I suppose she wishes the match; otherwise, I would give him such an answer to that letter as would startle him a little." "What settlement is he to make ?" said Thorne.
"Oh, that's satisfactory enough; couldn't be more so; a thousand a year and the house at Wimbledon for her; that's all very well.

But such a lie, you know, Thorne.