“Confound you, no!” exclaimed the young man, angrily. “She is the daughter of a wealthy baronet, of Lincolnshire. Now are you satisfied?”
“No,” said the Jew, taking out pencil and pocket-book; “I want his name.”
“Good old family,” said the Viscount, hastily. “Only child. I am invited down there, and the baronet is quite willing. Will that do?”
“Name—name—name!” exclaimed the creditor, impatiently.
“Sir Murray Gernon. There, then!” cried the young man, furiously.
“Sir Murray Gernon,” said the Jew, quietly, as he tapped his teeth with his large gold pencil-case—“Sir Murray Gernon. Ah! let me see; there was a screw loose there, if I recollect right, years ago. Rich family, though—very. Young lady’s mamma bolted, I think; but that don’t matter to you. Yes, that will do, Viscount—that will do. I think I’ll wait.”
“And you will advance me what I require?” said his lordship, eagerly, forgetting all humiliation in his brightened prospects.
“In reason, yes,” said the Jew, with a mocking smile once more overspreading his face; “but I shall not do it for nothing, my Lord Viscount Maudlaine—I shall not do it for nothing.”
“No,” muttered the young man, “I know that.”
“It’s quite possible that I may go so far as to make my own terms,” said the Jew, with a grin. “But I’ll leave you, now, to think over the matter; and if you want any little help, of course you’ll come to my chambers, where we can renew one of the bills.”