Europa. Oh, yes!—fumes. Now Blyth, is this correct?
Won't Abbot and his clerks be here again?
Blyth. That's not the counting-house. Sir Tristram's own.
Europa. Sir Tristram's own?
Blyth. His private business-room.
Europa. This is the most palatial theatre!
Dispose my things—there, on the roll-top desk.
[Blyth does so.]
I'll risk it, Blyth.
[Gives Blyth money.]
Blyth. [Counting the money] One short. You promised five.
Europa. [Gives a fifth sovereign] I know I did. I thought you'd let me off.