Another scene. About this time, Manton had effected the advantageous sale of a new work, which placed him suddenly in the possession of a larger sum of money than he had been able to command, at one time, for a long period. His first thought was for his young proteges, and, although his own wardrobe was sufficiently dilapidated, he expended a portion of the sum for their comfort and gratification before he thought at all of his own necessities. Unluckily for him, however, it was evening when the money was received, and the purchases intended to surprise them were the only ones made on the way to the house.
In almost boyish eagerness, and all breathless with the delight of giving joy to these gentle ones he loved so much, he hastened home and threw his presents down before them, to be greeted with rapturous expressions and gleeful merriment, the silvery and most musical clamoring of which, soon brought the woman, Marie, to the scene. Her eyes danced and glistened as she saw them; her infallible instinct scented the money in an instant.
“Beautiful! beautiful!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands with childlike artlessness. “How lovely! How sweet! How noble! How generous of you to think of these dear girls first, when you need so much yourself!” and she looked up with bewitching candor into the face of Manton, though it might have been noticed by more careful observers that one eye turned obliquely towards his pockets. She sprang suddenly to his side, and leant affectionately against his arm, which she clasped with both her hands.
“Ah, my gentle Tiger! How shall I ever thank you for your unwearying kindness to these my tender blossoms? My precious ‘Monies!’ You are too good! We shall never know how to thank you enough!”
And leaning still closer and in a more confidential manner towards his ear, while her forehead flushed and her voice sank,
“You sold the book, did you?”
“Yes.”
“For how much?”
“The receipts in my pocket will show!”
“Ah, let us see them then!” said she playfully, as she thrust her hand into his pocket. “I want to see if those evil and stupid publishers have understood the value of the precious genius they were purchasing! Oh, dear, why what a treasure! Here are fifties, twenties, ever so many!” while she, with eager and trembling hands, fumbled the notes that she had snatched from the vest-pocket where he had, with his characteristic carelessness of money, thrust them loosely. “Ah, I must take time to count all this treasure for you, for I don’t believe you know how much you’ve got, you careless boy!” And as she said this she hastily deposited the money in the bottom of her pocket.