“Yes, confound it,” said Mr. Weems; “it is hard, isn’t it? To think that that old faded flower of a girl should be smart enough to get the better of me in such a manner!”
“The damages are heavy too,” said Gunn, thoughtfully; “and I understand that she is firmly resolved to compel you to pay the money.”
“That is the worst of it! The mortification was bad enough; but five thousand dollars to pay on top of that! Why, it’s simply awful.”
“The amount would cover the price of a good many pictures, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes; and just now the market is so overloaded with old masters, that they hardly fetch the value of the canvas they are painted on. A house-painter makes more money than an artist.”
“It must be a desire for revenge that induces the lady to be so eager for the money. She is not poor.”
“I guess she is. Old Cowdrick will have to give up everything, I suppose.”
Mr. Gunn smiled, and looked wise. Then he said, Mr. Weems, I’ll let you into a secret if you will keep it to yourself.”
“I will, certainly.”
“Well, sir, I know,—I don’t merely think,—I know that Cowdrick is going to come out of this thing with at least a quarter of a million. He’ll be just as comfortable as ever.”