“Oh, yes,” she said indifferently, holding out her hand for the little figure and examining it carefully for cracks or nicks. “But now that we’ve bought the lambs I don’t know—how much is this?”
“Five bob, and you can’t find another such bargain in London,” the dealer assured her eagerly.
“What’s a bob?” whispered Betty.
“A shilling,” Madeline explained. Then she turned to the dealer. “Make it two and six.”
“FOUR AND SIX!”
“Four and six,” he compromised.
Madeline shook her head severely. “If you’d said three and six I might have considered it. Come on, Betty.”
Betty stared in amazement. Was Madeline—yes, she was actually walking off. She was going to leave that lovely duke. But just as Madeline turned the corner, the little dealer jumped up, the figure in one hand and a scrap of crumpled paper in the other, and with a bound he was at Madeline’s elbow.
“Have it for three and six,” he whispered confidentially.