"The price of the fan," said Tidman starting.
"What do you mean by that?" asked Miss Pewsey, her eyes glittering.
"I mean, just nothing."
"Oh yes, you do. Make a clean breast of it Benjamin Tidman. Oh, to think that the son of a farmer, who was almost a labourer, should dare to speak evil of a Pewsey of Essex. But the law--the law," said the irate lady shaking a thin finger, "and five thousand pounds."
"Get it out of the fan."
"Is it worth that?" asked Forge coldly.
"You heard what young Ainsleigh said," answered Tidman as coldly.
"Yes I remember; but we have not come about the price, but about your libel on this lady."
"I apologise," said Tidman, seeing nothing else was to be done.
"Apology isn't money," snapped Miss Pewsey.