"I can't do anything else, that I can see," said the other bitterly. "However, you must give me a week to come to a decision."
"Take a month," answered the visitor generously. "I'm not in a hurry to skin you, old man. You can't get out of the corner, you know. And see here, if we make a fortune out of this business, I'll give you a chance with Lucy, and take Ida Dimsdale with her ten thousand a year."
"Will she have that much?"
"Oh, certainly. I made inquiries," said Maunders coolly. "It's no use jumping in the dark you know. Old Dimsdale--his Christian name's Martin--was a Police Commissioner in Burmah some years ago, and shook the pagoda-tree to some purpose. Now he's retired, and lives in a gorgeously glorified bungalow, which he built at Hampstead. He's not a bad chap, and Ida is uncommonly good-looking. I might do worse."
"What about Colonel Towton?"
"I'll cut him out. He's a very young colonel of forty-five, handsome and smart, but with precious little brain about him. He's got an ancient country house in Yorkshire, and--but here, I'll be talking all the night." Maunders jumped up. "And Lucy is waiting for me. You can take a month."
"Thank you," said Vernon frigidly. "I shall give you my answer then."
"It will be 'yes,' of course; you can't say anything else. I say"---Maunders threw a laughing glance over his shoulder--"by this time you must have changed your opinion as to my being an ass," and he departed still laughing.
Vernon ran after him and touched his shoulder. "Not an ass, but a scoundrel," he breathed with suppressed passion, and Maunders' laughter increased.