as, for I never can have
patience, and you shall hear; I am little in the habit of judging people
entirely by their purses, not even a son-in-law, provided there is a
sufficiency on the one side or the other for--"

"Quick, mum--quick--rich--rich? will the woman drive me mad?" and Sir
Thomas Dillaway, Knight, rattled loose cash in both pockets more
vindictively than ever. But the spouse, nothing hurried, still crept on
in her _sotto voce adantino_ style,

"Mr. Clements owes nothing, has something, and above and beside all his
good heart, good mind, good fame, good looks, good family, possesses a
contented--"

"Pish! contented, bah!" our hasty knight's nose actually curled upwards
in utter scorn as he added, "Now, that's enough--quite enough. I'll bet
a plum the man's poor. Contented indeed! did you ever know a rich man
yet who was contented--ey? mum--ey? or a poor one that wasn't--ey? what?
I've no patience with those contented fellows: it's my belief they
steal away the happiness of monied men. If this Mr. Clements was
rich--rich, one wouldn't mind so much about talents, virtues, and
contentment--work-house blessings; but the man's poor, I know
it--poo-o-or!"

Sir Thomas had a method quite his own of pronouncing those contradictory
monosyllables, rich and poor: the former he gave out with an unctuous,
fish-saucy gusto, and the word seemed to linger on his palate as a
delicious morsel in the progress of delightful deglutition; but when he
uttered the word poor, it was with that "mewling and puking" miserable
face, appropriated from time immemorial to the gulping of a black
draught.

"No, Lady Dillaway, right about's the next word I shall say to that
smooth-looking pauper, Mr. Henry Clements--to think of his impudence,
making up to my daughter, indeed! a poo-o-o-r man, too."

"I did not tell you he was poor, Sir Thomas: you have run away with that
idea on your own account: the young man has enough for the present, owes
nothing for the past, and reasonable expectations for the--

"Future, I suppose, ey? what? I hate futures, all the lot of 'em: cash
down, ready money, bird in the hand, that's my ticket, mum:
expectations, indeed! Well, go on--go on; I'm as patient as a--as a
mule, you see; go on, will you; I may as well hear it all out, Lady
Dillaway."

"Well, Sir Thomas, since you think so little of the future, I will not
insist on expectations; though I really can only excuse your methods of
judging by the fa