His small eyes gleamed as they rested on Leonie's stricken face.
"Stop, please," she said hurriedly, "I can't stand any more just now.
I—I couldn't really. Will you give me a week to think it over?"
The man laughed contemptuously.
"A few days, a few hours, then?"
There was something horrible in the humiliation of the girl's pleading, but it made not the slightest impression on the ex-costermonger, who had at one time been accustomed to enforcing his commands with the buckle end of his waist-belt.
"Not a minute, not a second," he chortled, seeing the end of the chase in sight. "Think of the 'old I have on yer aunt. Lady Susan Hetth, sister of Colonel Bob 'etth, V.C., creeping out h'of a gentleman's rooms at three h'o'clock of the mornin' an' payin' me 'ush money—think of h'it. Now what 'ev you got to say. Why don't you be sensible an' quiet, gal? I've got yer, it ain't no use kickin'. Be sensible an' I'll smother you in di'monds, give yer two Rolls-Royce, yacht, Monty Carlo any time, Park Lane—make every other woman want ter scratch yer eyes out—what more could yer want? Now what have yer got to say!"
What was there to say?
Aunt Susan tried to obliterate herself behind the window curtain; Sir Walter, thumbs in armholes, tilted himself backwards and forwards on toe and heel as Leonie came forward and leant with both hands the table, as she looked from one to the other without speaking.
In fact the silence became intolerable to Sir Walter, who had expected, and would have thoroughly enjoyed a heated altercation, in which he would have known exactly where he was.
"Well, what 'ev yer got to say, my gel?"