"She is worth a good deal to me too—more than you would think. Her mother also desires a marriage between us. I am asking you, Mr. Rivington, to give her up, and to—name your price."
"The devil you are!" said Rivington; but he said it without violence. He still sat motionless, his hands in his pockets, surveying his visitor.
"I am rich," Dinghra said, still in those purring accents. "I am prepared to make you a wealthy man for the rest of your life. You will be able to marry, if you desire to do so, and live in ease and luxury. Come, Mr. Rivington, what do you say to it? You detest poverty. Now is your chance, then. You need never be poor again."
"You're uncommonly generous," said Rivington. "But is the lady to have no say in the matter? Or has she already spoken?"
Dinghra looked supremely contemptuous.
"The matter is entirely between you and me," he said.
"Oh!" Rivington became reflective.
The Indian crossed his arms and waited.
"Well," Rivington said at length, "I will name my price, since you desire it, but I warn you it's a fairly stiff one. You won't like it."
"Speak!" said Dinghra eagerly. His eyes literally blazed at the Englishman's imperturbable face.