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.
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