"Simply a case of stump," said Mr. Beresford, rising from the table, plunging his hands into his trousers-pockets, and striding up and down the room.
"What do you mean to do?"
"Borrow two hundred pounds more of you," exclaimed Beresford, stopping short on the edge of the rug, and confronting Mr. Simnel.
"And then?" asked the latter gentleman, smiling calmly.
"God knows!" said Beresford, with something like a shudder. "Something must turn up; the Bishop must die or Lady Lowndes, and there'd be a safe something from them; or there'll be some girl--"
"Ye-es," interrupted Mr. Simnel drily, seating himself at his desk, and unlocking a draw therein. "You're the most marvellously sanguine fellow, perfectly Micawberish in your notions of something turning up, and your making a coup. But--suppose t'other! suppose it didn't come off! Now you owe me,"--looking at a paper which he took from the drawer,--"six hundred pounds already, and I've only got insurance policies for security."
"You get your interest," growled Beresford.
"A mild six;" said Mr. Simnel, with a shrug of his shoulders and his pleasant smile. "A mild six; just what I should get in Bombay Preference, or Great Luxembourg Centrals, or a dozen other safe investments. However, you shall have this two hundred; but I should be glad to see your way in the future. Is there no girl with money whom you think you could propose to speedily?"
"Not one," said Beresford, stopping in his walk and reseating himself on the table. "Oh, by Jove, I forgot to tell you that."
"What?"