“But I’ve written to Miss Carr, to ask her to let me have the money for you.”
Revitts got up out of his chair, where he was partaking of tea and bread and butter in a rather wholesale style, pulled himself together, buttoned up his coat, took a couple of official strides to where I sat, and, taking my hand, began shaking it up and down for some moments.
Then he gave Mary three or four wags of the head and nods, and went back to his tea, unbuttoning the while.
“That’s very nice and kind of you, Master Antony,” she said; “but that money would be only borrowed, and it would have to be paid back again, and sit upon us like lumps of lead till it was—”
“Oh, nonsense, Mary, I don’t believe Miss Carr would ever want it back—I think she’ll give me the money. And besides, I mean to furnish my own rooms, so that will be two less.”
“Hark at that now!” said Revitts, giving his head a wag.
“I don’t want to seem conceited, but I should like to improve my room, and have a place for my books, and be able to bring a friend home to have tea or supper with me when I liked.”
“That’s quite right,” said Revitts approvingly; “but we should want close upon two hundred pounds, Master Ant’ny, you know.”
“Yes, you ought to have two hundred and fifty pounds.”
Mary shook her head, and seemed to tighten up her face, buttering the bread she had before her the while.