"What's the good of these stupid threats? If you really wanted to do me a mischief, where could you go to, and who'd believe you?"
"I fancy your wife would. I'll try. Hillo—"
"Stop—stop—stop. No row here, sir. No scandal. Hold your tongue, or
I'll send for the police."
"Do! Nothing I should like better. I'm tired out. I want to tell my own story at the Old Bailey, and have my revenge upon you, upon Darrell, upon all. Send for the police."
Losely threw himself at length on the sofa—(new morocco with spring cushions)—and folded his arms.
"You could only give me five minutes—they are gone, I fear. I am more liberal. I give you your own time to consider. I don't care if I stay to dine; I dare say Mrs. Poole will excuse my dress."
"Losely, you are such a—fellow! If I do give you the four pounds you ask, will you promise to shift for yourself somehow, and molest me no more?"
"Certainly not. I shall come once every week for the same sum. I can't live upon less—until—"
"Until what?"
"Until either you get Mr. Darrell to settle on me a suitable provision; or until you place me in possession of my daughter, and I can then be in a better condition to treat with him myself; for if I would make a claim on account of the girl, I must produce the girl, or he may say she is dead. Besides, if she be as pretty as she was when a child, the very sight of her might move him more than all my talk."