“Ten or twenty; some such sum as that. But you were hardly so soft as to suppose that the man would ask for such a sum. Of course he would demand the full payment. There is the bill, Lord Lufton,” and Sowerby, producing a document, handed it across the table to his lordship. “I gave five-and-twenty pounds for it this morning.”
Lord Lufton took the paper and looked at it. “Yes,” said he, “that’s the bill. What am I to do with it now?”
“Put it with the family archives,” said Sowerby,—“or behind the fire, just which you please.”
“And is this the last of them? Can no other be brought up?”
“You know better than I do what paper you may have put your hand to. I know of no other. At the last renewal that was the only outstanding bill of which I was aware.”
“And you have paid five-and-twenty pounds for it?”
“I have. Only that you have been in such a tantrum about it, and would have made such a noise this afternoon if I had not brought it, I might have had it for fifteen or twenty. In three or four days they would have taken fifteen.”
“The odd ten pounds does not signify, and I’ll pay you the twenty-five, of course,” said Lord Lufton, who now began to feel a little ashamed of himself.
“You may do as you please about that.”
“Oh! it’s my affair, as a matter of course. Any amount of that kind I don’t mind,” and he sat down to fill in a cheque for the money.