Mr. Jericho did not rouse himself at the sound. He sat in his arm-chair, pale and thin, and melancholy.
“What is the matter, Solomon? Surely you are not ill?” said Mrs. Jericho.
“Certainly not; do I look ill?” asked the Man of Money.
“Why,—no. Nevertheless, my dear, you don’t seem to have that zest for life that—with such a prospect opening upon us—you ought to have. In a few weeks you’re in Parliament: a peerage must follow in proper time: we can command that. Our money must make us one of the bulwarks of the constitution. Why, you don’t attend to me, my love: one of the bulwarks,” repeated Mrs. Jericho.
“To be sure; of course,” said the listless peer in embryo.
“And now”—said Mrs. Jericho, in her most cordial manner—“now, let me have a thousand pounds.”
“A thousand pounds! What for?” cried Jericho.
“To pay the jeweller. The man—I’m determined never to lay out another shilling at the house—the man has orders not to leave the jewels without the money. He little knows whom he insults,” said Mrs. Jericho; twisting her neck to strangle her indignation.
“He won’t leave the jewels without the money?” said Jericho. “Then let him take them back—we won’t have ’em.”
“Why,” answered the wife, “’twould be only what the fellow deserves; but the truth is, I’m very much taken with them. Besides, to reject them we—we might be misunderstood.”