“Now, now, now! sit down, and don’t get in a wax, my dear, with a man who has come as a friend. I’m well enough off now, but I know the time when a half-crown seemed riches, and if a friend had come to me, I’d ha’ said ‘Bless yer!’”
“If you have come as a friend of my brother, Mr Poynter, I am grateful.”
“Now, don’t put me on one side like that, Miss Rich—don’t. I have come as a friend—the best of friends. I know what things are, and that you’re pushed for money.”
“Mr Poynter!” indignantly.
“Yes, I know what you are going to say. ’Tain’t put delicate. Can’t help that. I’m a City man of business; but if it ain’t put delicately it’s put honest. We don’t put things delicately in the City.”
“I have no doubt of your intentions, Mr Poynter, and I am grateful.”
“Thank you, and that’s right. Now, don’t kick at what I’m going to say, and let it hurt your pride, because it is only between you and your best friend—the man as loves you. There, I came to say that, and I’m glad it’s out.”
“Mr Poynter,” said Rich hastily, “I am worn out. I am ill. I have that terrible trouble in the house. It is not the time to speak to me like this.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, my dear; for when should your best friend come if it isn’t when you’re sick, and so pushed for money that you don’t know where to turn?”
“Oh, the shame of it!” moaned Rich to herself, as her eyes flashed with mortification, while Poynter went on polishing his hat.