‘What is to be my reward?’ she repeated, ‘if I do as you ask? Will you give me the packet?’
Unwittingly he played into her hands.
‘What is to be my reward if I do?’ he asked.
In a moment Nora had made up her mind. If the great stake at issue, a stake the winning of which meant to secure the happiness of her whole life, was to be won by finesse, she would put forth all the finesse in her power to gain it, never mind what the consequences might be. So she looked at him coquettishly and said, like the arch actress he had once called her,—
‘What reward do you want, Jack, besides the condition you have already named?’
‘Come, that’s better,’ said Mr Portland. ‘I haven’t seen a smile like that on your ladyship’s face for many a day. What I want is, a little more affectionate interest from you, Nora, a little more cordiality to your husband’s best friend, a little more familiarity with him before other people, that they may see he is enfant gaté du maison! I am sure you understand me. Also, that you can comply with my wishes if you chose. Be more like what you were in Malta, and I shall feel my reward is equal to my sacrifice.’
‘And the sacrifice, Jack?’ she continued, ‘that is to be delivering up the letters you hold of mine.’
‘Certainly, if you care to have them. Now, Nora, I will make a bargain with you,—you shall have your letters as soon as ever you consent to fetch them with your own fair hands.’
‘To fetch them?’ she echoed wonderingly.
‘To fetch them. Did I not speak plainly? They are over at Panty-cuckoo Farm with my other things. If you will come to my room this evening, I will engage to deliver your letters to you myself.’