'More, my dear child? why I want two or three cool hundred.'
'Two or three hundred?' repeated she, amazed.
'Nay, nay, don't be frightened. My uncle will give you two or three thousand, you know that. And I really want the money. It's no joke, I assure you. It's a case of real distress.'
'Distress? impossible! what distress can you have to so prodigious an amount?'
'Prodigious! poor little innocent! dost think two or three hundred prodigious?'
'And what is become of the large sums extorted from my uncle Relvil?'
'O that was for quite another thing. That was for debts. That's gone and over. This is for a perfectly different purpose.'
'And will nothing—O Lionel!—nothing touch you? My poor mother's quitting England ... her separation from my father and her family ... my uncle Relvil's severe attack ... will nothing move you to more thoughtful, more praise-worthy conduct?'
'Camilla, no preaching! I might as well cast myself upon the old ones at once. I come to you in preference, on purpose to avoid sermonising. However, for your satisfaction, and to spur you to serve me, I can assure you I have avoided all new debts since the last little deposit of the poor sick hypochondriac miser, who is pining away at the loss of a few guineas, that he had neither spirit nor health to have spent for himself.'
'Is this your reasoning, your repentance, Lionel, upon such a catastrophe?'