“I am actually silenced. The fact is that we are just raising a fund to restore the north tower of the Cathedral, and I thought that, as you had been so generous before, you might possibly see your way to give us some assistance.”
“How much?”
“No, really! But if you did feel disposed to do something, however small—”
The voice of the machine was again heard in the offing:
“Mr. Septimus Jones!”
“You had better make haste,” said Victoria to the dean.
The dean cast an imploring look at Hammond.
“I am so ashamed! May I really throw myself on your generosity?”
“How much?”
“I couldn’t possibly—” The curtain was lifted from outside. “Well, fifty pounds?” Hammond took out a pocket-book and began to scribble a memorandum in it. “This is too good of you. I assure you I never expected it.”