"Make it one-and-sixpence," she pleaded. "Times are hard."
Adrian reflected. He was not, strictly speaking, impoverished. He could afford one-and-sixpence.
"One-and-tuppence," he said.
"No, no, one-and-sixpence," she repeated obstinately.
Adrian reflected again. After all, he could always sell it for ten thousand pounds, if the worst came to the worst.
"Well, well," he sighed, "one-and-sixpence let it be."
He counted out the money carefully. Then putting the precious bracelet in his pocket he rose to go.
Adrian has no relations living now. When he dies he proposes to leave the Plimsoll Collection to the nation, having, as far as he can foresee—no particular use for it in the next world. This is really very generous of him, and, no doubt, when the time comes, the papers will say so. But it is a pity that he cannot be appreciated properly in his lifetime. Personally I should like to see him knighted.