Cashel Byron's Profession

"But you give me the sack. Is that it?"

"What do you propose, Mr. Cashel Byron? Is it to visit my house in

the intervals of battering and maiming butchers and laborers?"

"No, it's not," retorted Cashel. "You're very aggravating. I won't

stay much longer in the ring now, because my luck is too good to

last. I shall have to retire soon, luck or no luck, because no one

can match me. Even now there's nobody except Bill Paradise that

pretends to be able for me; and I'll settle him in September if he

really means business. After that, I'll retire. I expect to be worth

ten thousand pounds then. Ten thousand pounds, I'm told, is the same

as five hundred a year. Well, I suppose, judging from the style you

keep here, that you're worth as much more, besides your place in the

country; so, if you will marry me, we shall have a thousand a year

between us. I don't know much of money matters; but at any rate we

can live like fighting-cocks on that much. That's a straight and

business-like proposal, isn't it?"

"And if I refuse?" said Lydia, with some sternness.

"Then you may have the ten thousand pounds to do what you like

with," said Cashel, despairingly. "It won't matter what becomes of

me. I won't go to the devil for you or any woman if I can help it;

and I--but where's the good of saying IF you refuse. I know I don't

express myself properly; I'm a bad hand at sentimentality; but if I

had as much gab as a poet, I couldn't be any fonder of you, or think

more highly of you."

"But you are mistaken as to the amount of my income."

"That doesn't matter a bit. If you have more, why, the more the

merrier. If you have less, or if you have to give up all your

property when you're married, I will soon make another ten thousand

to supply the loss. Only give me one good word, and, by George, I'll

fight the seven champions of Christendom, one down and t'other come

on, for five thousand a side each. Hang the money!"

"I am richer than you suppose," said Lydia, unmoved. "I cannot tell

you exactly how much I possess; but my income is about forty

thousand pounds."

"Forty thousand pounds!" ejaculated Cashel.

"Holy Moses! I didn't think the queen had so much as that."

He paused a moment, and became very red. Then, in a voice broken by

mortification, he said, "I see I have been making a fool of myself,"

and took his hat and turned to go.