I intend to marry--an heiress, _bien entendu_--and it seems to me that your ward, Miss Wynter, will suit me well enough." "And Miss Wynter, will you suit _her_ well enough ?" "A deuced sight too well, I should say.

Why, the girl is of no family to signify, whereas the Curzons----It will be a better match for her than in her wildest dreams she could have hoped for." "Perhaps, in her wildest dreams, she hoped for a good man, and one who could honestly love her." "Pouf! You are hardly up to date, my dear fellow.

Girls, now-a-days, are wise enough to know they can't have everything, and she will get a good deal.

Title, position----I say, Thaddeus, what I want of you is to--er--to help me in this matter--to--crack me up a bit, eh ?--to--_you_ know." The professor is silent, more through disgust than want of anything to say.

Staring at the man before him, he knows he is loathsome to him--loathsome, and his own brother! This man, who with some of the best blood of England in his veins, is so far, far below the standard that marks the gentleman.