"I will give you twice as much as that for the next five years if—if you go back to where you came from."
It took me a minute to seize all the implications contained in this little speech. I saw then that if I hoped I was making an impression, or getting further ahead with him, I was mistaken. Neither had my interpretation of Mrs. Brokenshire's character put him off the scent concerning her. I was so far indeed from influencing him in either her favor or my own that he believed that if he could get rid of me an obstacle would be removed.
Tears sprang into my eyes, though they didn't fall.
"So you blame me, sir, for everything."
He continued to watch his gloved hand as it made the circle of the crown of his hat.
"I'll make it twice what you're getting here for ten years. I'll put it in my will." It was no use being angry or mounting my high horse. The struggle with tears kept me silent as he glanced up from the rubbing of his hat and said in a jerky, kindly tone: "Well? What do you say?"
I didn't know what to say; and what I did say was foolish. I should have known enough to suppress it before I began.
"Do you remember, sir, that once when you were speaking to me severely, you said you were my friend? Well, why shouldn't I be your friend, too?"
The look he bent down on me was that of a great personage positively dazed by an inferior's audacity.
"I could be your friend," I stumbled on, in an absurd effort to explain myself. "I should like to be. There are—there are things I could do for you."