“Eh—of who did you say?”
“Mr. William Rawton, or Bill Rawton, as he is more familiarly termed.”
“Oh, certainly, yes, I know Bill Rawton perfectly well, but he is certainly not in London just now—is far away, I believe. What might you want with him?” inquired Peace or rather Thompson, with a suspicious look.
“I have no desire to see him, Mr. Thompson, but he has rendered me a service, and I am desirous of offering him some recompense for the same.”
“Oh, I see; that’s a different matter altogether. It will be very acceptable to him, I have no doubt.”
“You’ve got a grand work here, sir,” said Mrs. Bourne, glancing at the paper on the table. “You are in the engineering line, I suppose?”
“Well, I do a little in that way; this is a draft of an invention a neighbour of mine and myself are about to patent.”
“I hope it may prove successful and lucrative,” said the widow.
“I hope so, I’m sure, for his sake. Luckily for me, I don’t depend upon those sort of things. I am possessed of independent means.”
He spoke so confidently, and was withal so plausible and urbane in his manner, that Mrs. Bourne was rather taken with him than otherwise.