Mr. Effingham scarcely liked the tone; he felt he was being "chaffed;" so he thought he would bring matters to a crisis by saying, "My name's not Effingham--at least, not more than yours is Gillespie."
"Oh, I perceive," said she with a little nod.
"My name's Butler as much as yours is Ponsford. Now d'ye see?"
"O yes; now I see perfectly. Butler, eh? Any relation of a man named Tony Butler who is now dead?"
"Yes--his brother. He may have spoken to you of a brother in America."
"In America! ay, ay. Well, Mr. Butler," she continued with a bright smile, "now I know that you're the brother of Tony Butler, there's scarcely any need of repeating my question whether you wanted anything; for--pardon me--you could hardly belong to that interesting family without wanting something. The question is, what do you want? Money? and if so, how much?"
"No; I don't want money--"
"That's very unlike Tony Butler. I shall begin to discredit your statements," said she, still with the pleasant smile.
"At least not yet, nor from you. But I do want something."
"Ye-es, and that is--"