CROCKSTEAD. Oh, don't be alarmed, I'll manage it pleasantly. I'll give him
tips, shares, speculate for him, make him a director of one or two of my
companies. He shall have an income of four thousand a year. You can live
on that.
ALINE. You are not serious?
CROCKSTEAD. Oh yes; and though men may not like me, they always trust my
word. You may.
ALINE. And why will you do this thing?
CROCKSTEAD. Call it caprice--call it a mere vulgar desire to let my
magnificence dazzle you--call it the less vulgar desire to know that my
money has made you happy with the man you love.
ALINE. That is generous.
CROCKSTEAD. I remember an old poem I learnt at school--which told how
Frederick the Great coveted a mill that adjoined a favourite estate of
his; but the miller refused to sell. Frederick could have turned him out,
of course--there was not very much public opinion in those days--but he
respected the miller's firmness, and left him in solid possession. And
mark that, at that very same time, he annexed--in other words stole--the
province of Silesia.