“You yourself told me of them, when we walked away from St James’s Square together the other night.”
“Did I? I had forgotten.”
Silence fell. Ormskirk’s eyes were veiled; one of his white hands rhythmically swung his quizzing-glass to and fro on the end of its ribbon. Mr Ravenscar went on shuffling the cards.
“I have a handful of Lady Bellingham’s bills,” his lordship said at last. “Candour, however, compels me to say that they would not fetch quite their face-value in the market.”
“And that is?”
“Fifteen hundred,” said his lordship.
“I am ready to buy them from you at that figure.”
Ormskirk put up his quizzing-glass. “So!” he said. “But I do not think I wish to sell, my dear Ravenscar.”
“You had much better do so, however.”
“Indeed! May I know why?”