"I wish Laura to marry," he said; "I shall be glad when she has secured
the protection of a good husband."
Sir Phillip Jocelyn sprang up with his face all a-glow with rapture, and
would fain have seized the banker's hand in token of his gratitude; but
Henry Dunbar waved him off with an authoritative gesture.
"Good morning, Sir Philip," he said; "I am very poor company, and I
shall be glad to be alone with the _Times_. You young men don't
appreciate the _Times_. You want your newspapers filled with
prize-fighting and boat-racing, and the last gossip from 'the Corner.'
You'll find Miss Dunbar in the blue drawing-room. Speak to her as soon
as you please; and let me know the result of the interview."
It is not often that the heiress of a million or thereabouts is quite so
readily disposed of. Sir Philip Jocelyn walked on air as he quitted the
banker's apartments.
"Who ever would have thought that he was such a delicious old brick?" he
thought. "I expected any quantity of cold water; and instead of that, he
sends me straight to my darling with _carte blanche_ to go in and win,
if I can. If I can! Suppose Laura doesn't love me, after all. Suppose
she's only a beautiful coquette, who likes to see men go mad for love of
her. And yet I won't think that; I won't be down-hearted; I won't
believe she's anything but what she seems--an angel of purity and
truth.
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