“Of course I will,” I answered eagerly, “and be most grateful to you for your kindness.”
“Grateful!” he repeated, with cynical insolence. “My dear young lady, gratitude is of no value in business—but I’ll give the cheque.”
“Not a cheque, if you please, but money; notes will be best.”
“All right,” he agreed, “you shall have the money in notes. I will send it up to-night by ten o’clock, in charge of a special messenger.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you—how good of you!” I began.
But again he interrupted me with a wave of his beautifully manicured hand:
“Besides a speedy return of this large sum I must call upon you for something extra in the way of—shall we say—interest? No, not money, but—er—consideration and appreciation. You have always held me off; can I ever forget my dance with you at the Residency ball, or the memory of what happened in this very room?”
Something in the tone of his voice and the peculiar expression of his eyes frightened me. My hands were locked in my lap that he might not see how they were shaking.
“Do please forgive me,” I pleaded tremulously. “I was a proud child with a fiery temper, and I’m afraid I cannot always control myself.”
“You have openly snubbed me, my beautiful young lady, and to tell me you have a temper and are sorry is of no use. You must be prepared to pay me in my own coin.”