'An unforeseen accident,—write on,—an unforeseen accident has reduced me to immediate distress for two hundred pounds....'
Camilla let her pen drop, and rising said, 'Lionel! is this possible?'
'Very possible, my dear. You know I told you I wanted another hundred before you left Cleves. So you must account it only as one hundred, in fact, at present.'
'O Lionel, Lionel!' cried Camilla, clasping her hands, with a look of more remonstrance than any words she durst utter.
'Won't you write the letter?' said he, pretending not to observe her emotion.
'To whom is it to be addressed?'
'My uncle, to be sure, my dear! What can you be thinking of? Are you in love, Camilla?'
'My uncle again? no Lionel, no!—I have solemnly engaged myself to apply to him no more.'
'That was, for me, my dear; but where can your thoughts be wandering? Why you must ask for this, as if it were for yourself.'
'For myself!'