Neaera laughed a little at the proposal when it was submitted to her, but expressed her willingness to consent to it. Gerald was almost angry with her for not being angry at the indignity.
“He goes too far: upon my word he does;” he muttered.
“What does it matter, dear?” asked Neaera. “It will be rather fun.”
Lord Tottlebury raised a hand in grave protest.
“My dear Neaera!” said he.
“Not much fun for George,” Gerald remarked in grim triumph.
“I suppose Mr. Blodwell’s chambers will do?” asked Lord Tottlebury. “It seems convenient.”
But here Neaera, rather to his surprise, had her own views. She wasn’t going down to musty chambers to be stared at—yes, Gerald, all lawyers stared,—and taken for a breach-of-promise person, and generally besmirched with legal mire. No: nor she wouldn’t have Mr. George Neston’s spies in her house; nor would she put herself out the least about it.
“Then it must be in my house,” said Lord Tottlebury.
Neaera acquiesced, merely adding that the valuables had better be locked up.