“I am sure I don’t know, and certainly I don’t care a fig replied Deborah untruthfully. “He had the insolence to offer me five thousand pounds if I would relinquish my pretensions—my pretensions!—to Adrian’s hand and heart!”
Lady Bellingham, over whose plump countenance a hopeful expression had begun to creep, looked disappointed, she said: “Five thousand! I must say, Deb, I think that is shabby!”
“I said that I feared he was trying to trifle with me,” recounted Miss Grantham with relish.
“Well, and I am sure you could not have said anything better, my love! I declare, I did not think so meanly of him!”
“Then,” continued Miss Grantham, “he said he would double that figure.”
Lady Bellingham dropped her reticule. “Ten thousand!” she exclaimed faintly. “No, never mind my reticule, Deb, it don’t signify! What did you say to that?”
“I said, Paltry!” answered Miss Grantham.
Her aunt blinked at her. “Paltry ... Would you—would you call it paltry, my love?”
“I did call it paltry. I said I would not let Adrian slip through my fingers for a mere ten thousand. I enjoyed saying that, Aunt Lizzie!”
“Yes, my dear, but—but was it wise, do you think?”