“I should rather think you wouldn’t!” said Freddy, without hesitation. “Can’t make the woman out at all, myself. Know what she said to me this morning? Asked me if I’d slept well, and when I told her that it beat me how anyone could sleep at all, with a dashed lot of cockerels crowing their heads off, she said that rural sounds exhilarate the spirit, and do something or other to languid nature!”
“Cowper,” said Kitty, in a depressed tone. “‘Restore the tone of languid nature.’”
“Well, it’s a bag of moonshine!” said Freddy. “What’s more, I always thought so! Often hear of fellows ruralizing— going into the country on a repairing lease, y’know—but I never could see that it did ’em a particle of good. Well, if they’re kept awake the better part of the night by a lot of cockerels, stands to reason it couldn’t! It’s my belief, Kit, the woman’s touched in her upper works.”
“No, she is merely addicted to poetry,” explained Kitty.
“Well, that just shows you!” said Mr. Standen reasonably. He abandoned the topic for one of more immediate importance. “How much did the old hunks give you in that roll?”
“Oh, Freddy!” exclaimed Kitty, awed. “Two hundred and fifty pounds! I am sure I can never spend the half of it! It is the greatest anxiety to me! I have it safe here in my reticule, but only think if I should chance to be robbed!” She untied the strings of this receptacle, and dragged out the roll. “Pray, will you take care of it for me?” she begged.
Mr. Standen was just about to decline the office when a deep and cunning thought entered his head. Having a very nice idea of the cost of feminine apparel, it did not seem to him that two hundred and fifty pounds would suffice to clothe a lady about to make her debut in the first circle of fashion. He was a good-natured as well as an affluent young gentleman, and he now conceived a scheme whereby Miss Charing might be imposed upon entirely for her own benefit.
Detaching a fifty pound bill from the roll, he handed it to Kitty, saying: “That’s the dandy! You keep this one, and I’ll give the rest to m’mother. Have all the bills sent to her, and she’ll stand huff.”
Except for a slight feeling of alarm at carrying as much as fifty pounds in her reticule, Miss Charing had no fault to find with this arrangement, so Mr. Standen stowed the roll away in his pocket, and ventured to speak of a matter which had been considerably exercising his mind. “No wish to pry into what don’t concern me,” he said apologetically, “but can’t help wondering—Thing is, Kit, I’m dashed if I see what your lay is!”
“My lay?” repeated Kitty, glancing sideways at him.