“Plenty of money?” he said, at last.
“One of the richest heiresses in England.”
“Are you sure of that?” said Braham; “or has some foreign countess got hold of you again?”
“Sure? Yes!” cried Maudlaine, excitedly. “The father has been living out of England for years past at the rate of a couple of thousand a year, and his income’s at least twenty. All been increasing and piling up ever since.”
The Jew again looked piercingly at the young man; but it was plain enough that the ability was not in him to invent this as a fiction upon the spur of the moment.
“Well,” said the interlocutor, “go on. Have you any chance?”
“Yes; of course I have,” said Maudlaine.
“Father agreeable?”
“Yes!”
“Lady?”