“Well, let Blount try,” said he.
There was another idea also in Mr. Levi's head. He had been thinking whether the situation might not be turned to some more profitable account, for him, than the barren agency for the “friend of the family,” who “lent out money gratis,” like Antonio; and if he did not “bring down the rate of usance,” at all events, deprived the Shylocks of London, in one instance at least, of their fair game.
“If he won't do that, there'sh but one chansh left.”
“What is that?” asked Sir Richard, with a secret flutter at his heart. It was awful to think of himself reduced to his last chance, with his recent experience of what a chance is.
“Well,” says Mr. Levi, scrawling florid capitals on the table with his office pen, and speaking with much deliberation, “I heard you were going to make a very rich match; and if the shettlementsh was agreed on, I don't know but we might shee our way to advancing all you want.”
Sir Richard gets up, and walks slowly two or three times up and down the room.
“I'll see about Blount,” said he; “I'll talk to him. I think those things are payable in six or eight days; and that tallow-chandler won't bother me to-morrow, I daresay. I'll go to-day and talk to Blount, and suppose you come to me to-morrow evening at Mortlake. Will nine o'clock do for you? I sha'n't keep you half-an-hour.”
“A—all right, Shir—nine, at Mortlake. If you want any diamondsh, I have a beoo—ootiful collar and pendantsh, in that shaafe—brilliantsh. I can give you the lot three thoushand under cosht prishe. You'll wa—ant a preshent for the young la—ady.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Sir Richard, abstractedly. “To-morrow night—to-morrow evening at nine o'clock.”
He stopped at the door, looking silently down the stairs, and then without leave-taking or looking behind him, he ran down, and drove to Mr. Blount's house, close by, in Manchester Buildings.