The Lovers

"I am very angry," pouted the maid.

"In heaven's name, why?" questioned the bachelor.

"You have, so to speak, bought me."

"Impossible: your price is prohibitive."

"Indeed, when a thousand pounds--"

"You are worth fifty and a hundred times as much. Pooh!"

"That interjection doesn't answer my question."

"I don't think it is one which needs answering," said the young man
lightly; "there are more important things to talk about than pounds,
shillings, and sordid pence."

"Oh, indeed! Such as--"

"Love, on a day such as this is. Look at the sky, blue as your eyes; at
the sunshine, golden as your hair."

"Warm as your affection, you should say."

"Affection! So cold a word, when I love you."

"To the extent of one thousand pounds."

"Lucy, you are a--woman. That money did not buy your love, but the
consent of your step-father to our marriage. Had I not humored his whim,
he would have insisted upon your marrying Random."

Lucy pouted again and in scorn.

"As if I ever would," said she.

"Well, I don't know. Random is a soldier and a baronet; handsome and
agreeable, with a certain amount of talent. What objection can you find
to such a match?"

"One insuperable objection; he isn't you, Archie--darling."