"Confound the young beggar!" thinks Barnes, then.
"He will have three or four thousand a year, will he? Hang him, but it's
a good sum of money. What a fool his father is to give it away! Is he
joking? No, he was always half crazy--the Colonel. Highgate seemed
uncommonly sweet on her, and was always hanging about our house.
Farintosh has not been brought to book yet; and perhaps neither of them
will propose for her. My grandmother, I should think, won't hear of her
making a low marriage, as this certainly is: but it's a pity to throw
away four thousand a year, ain't it?" All these natural calculations
passed briskly through Barnes Newcome's mind, as his uncle, from the
opposite side of the fireplace, implored him in the above little speech.
"My dear Colonel," said Barnes, "my dear, kind Colonel! I needn't tell
you that your proposal flatters us, as much as your extraordinary
generosity surprises me. I never heard anything like it--never. Could I
consult my own wishes I would at once--I would, permit me to say, from
sheer admiration of your noble character, say yes, with all my heart, to
your proposal.
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