lap? But what's the use of talking? I'm booked for another race. It's
that kills me, Pen. I can't get out of it; though I die, I can't get out
of it. And though my cousin's a nice girl, and I like her very well, and
that, yet I hadn't seen this one when our Governors settled that matter
between us. And when you talked, just now, about her doing very well,
and about her having money enough for both of you, I thought to myself
it isn't money or mere liking a girl, that ought to be enough to make a
fellow marry. He may marry, and find he likes somebody else better.
All the money in the world won't make you happy then. Look at me; I've
plenty of money, or shall have out of the mash-tubs, as you call 'em. My
Governor thought he'd made it all right for me in settling my marriage
with my cousin. I tell you it won't do; and when Lady Ann has got her
husband, it won't be happy for either of us, and she'll have the most
miserable beggar in town."

"Poor old fellow!" Pen said, with rather a cheap magnanimity, "I wish I
could help you. I had no idea of this, and that you were so wild about
the girl. Do you think she would have you without your money? No. Do
you think your father would agree to break off your engagement with your
cousin? You know him very well, and that he would cast you off rather
than do so."

The unhappy Foker only groaned a reply, flinging himself prostrate on a
sofa, face forwards, his head in his hands.

"As for my affair," Pen went on, "my dear fellow, if I had thought
matters were so critical with you, at least I would not have pained
you by choosing you as my confidant. And my business is not serious, at
least not as yet. I have not spoken a word about it to Miss Amory. Very
likely she would not have me if I asked her. Only I have had a great
deal of talk about it with my uncle, who says that the match might be
an eligible one for me. I'm ambitious and I'm poor. And it appears Lady
Clavering will give her a good deal of money, and Sir Francis might be
got to never mind the rest. Nothing is settled, Harry. They are going
out of town directly. I promise you I won't ask her before she goes.
There's no hurry: there's time for everybody. But, suppose you got her,
Foker. Remember what you said about marriages just now, and the misery
of a man who doesn't care for his wife; and what sort of a wife would
you have who didn't care for her husband?"

"But she would care for me," said Foker, from his sofa--"that is