It is not the
case of a successful, middle-aged man wishing to _ranger_ himself and
settle down with a desirable _partie_, but of sheer, stark infatuation.
I adore Barbara; the worse she treats me the more I adore her. I had
rather that the Sahara flotation should fail than that she should refuse
me. I would rather lose three-quarters of my fortune than lose her. Do
you understand?"
His partner looked at him, pursed up his lips to whistle, then
remembered and shook his head instead.
"No," he answered. "Barbara is a nice girl, but I should not have
imagined her capable of inspiring such sentiments in a man almost old
enough to be her father. I think that you are the victim of a kind of
mania, which I have heard of but never experienced. Venus--or is it
Cupid?--has netted you, my dear Aylward."
"Oh! pray leave gods and goddesses out of it, we have had enough of them
already," he answered, exasperated. "That is my case at any rate, and
what I want to know now is if I have your support in my suit. Remember,
I have something to offer, Haswell, for instance, a large fortune of
which I will settle half--it is a good thing to do in our business,--and
a baronetcy that will be a peerage before long.
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