“Then, in that case, there 's no more to be said. All apologies for having taken you so long from your friends. Good-night.”
“Good-night,” said Balfour. “I 'm sorry we can't come to some arrangement. Good-night.”
“As this document will now never see the light, and as all action in the matter will be arrested,” said Sewell, gravely, “I rely upon your never mentioning our present interview.”
“I declare I don't see why I am precluded from speaking of it to my friends,—confidentially, of course.”
“You had better not.”
“Better not! better in what sense? As regards the public interests, or my personal ones?”
“I simply repeat, you had better not.” He put on his hat as he spoke, and without a word of leave-taking moved towards the door.
“Stop one moment,—a thought has just struck me. You like a sporting offer. I 'll bet you twenty pounds even, you 'll not let me read the contents of that paper; and I 'll lay you long odds—two hundred to one, in pounds—that you don't give it to me.”
“You certainly do like a good thing, Balfour. In plain words, you offer me two hundred and twenty. I 'll be shot if I see why they should have higgled so long about letting the Jews into Parliament when fellows like you have seats there.”
“Be good enough to remember,” said Balfour, with an easy smile, “that I 'm the only bidder, and if the article be not knocked down to me there's no auction.”