While he cogitated, the lady smiled upon him with gentle raillery; then she popped her hand in her pocket and drew forth a well-filled case.
"And did you think," said she, laying the case on the table, "that I would have the face to ask a rich lover to elope with me?"
"Faith," said he, pursuing now aloud his silent addition, "there's the gold punch-bowl, too! I vowed as long as I'd a drop to mix in it I'd never part with the thing; but, sure, I little guessed what was in store for me—that will make twenty guineas or more. Put up your money, Kitty; I'll not consent to be paid for carrying you off, except," said he, "by your sweet lips."
"Now listen, sir," she cried, lifting up her finger, "you're a poor man."
"I am that," said he.
"And I," said she, "am a rich woman."
"Oh!" cried he, "Kitty, my darling, and sure that's the last thing in the world I'd ever be thinking of now. When I laid my heart at your feet, my dear, 'twas for your own sweet sake, with never a thought of the lucre. What's money to me," said he, snapping his fingers, "not that, Kitty darling! I despise it. Why," he went on with his charming infectious smile, "I never had a gold piece in my pocket yet, but it burned a hole in it."
She listened to him with a curious expression, half contemptuous, half tender. Then she nodded.
"I well believe you," said she. "Come, come Denis, don't be a fool. Since the money is there, and we know for what purpose, what matters it between you and me who puts it down."
"Ah," he cried, with a sort of shame, abandoning his light tone for one of very real emotion, "you're an angel! I'm not worthy of you, but I'll try, Kitty, I'll try."