“Oh! only that time’s up!”
Lord Maudlaine sank back upon his pillow, half stupefied.
“Impossible,” he pondered: he had made no memorandum—he never did of these disagreeable transactions; but it was impossible that six months could have elapsed, and he said so.
“Six months, my lord? Why, what put it into your head that the paper had six months to run?”
“Why, I asked you to make it six months, and you said you would try.”
“Well, I did try, my clear lord. But you astonish me! Did you not read the bills over, when you put your name to them?”
“Confound you! you know I did not!” cried the Viscount, angrily. “They were only for three months, then?”
“That’s all, my lord. But there—what does it matter? Give me a cheque for the amount, and have done with it. There will be so much weight off your mind.”
Lord Maudlaine grinned in a manner that indicated how gladly he would have liked to wring his tormentor’s neck, but he crushed down his wrath.
“Well, what’s to be done? I can’t pay.”