"Because I was forced to do so. I remember being told to call you father. I remember being beaten because I refused to do so—beaten till I submitted from very fear of being beaten to death. Oh, it was a bright and happy childhood, was it not, Thomas Milsom? A childhood to look back to with love and regret. And now, finding that fortune has lifted me out of the gutter into which you flung me, you come to me to demand your share of my good fortune, I suppose?"
"That's about it, my lady," answered Mr. Milsom, with supreme coolness. "I don't mind a few hard words, more or less—they break no bones; and, what's more, I'm used to 'em. What I want is money, ready money, down on the nail, and plenty of it. You may pelt me as hard as you like with fine speeches, as long as you cash up liberally; but cash I must have, by fair means or foul, and I want a pretty good sum to start with."
"You want a large sum," said Honoria, quietly; "how much do you want?"
"Well, I don't want to take a mean advantage of your generosity, so
I'll be moderate. Say five thousand pounds—to begin with."
"And you expect to get that from me?"
"Of course I do."
"Five thousand pounds?"
"Five thousand pounds, ready money."
Lady Eversleigh stopped suddenly, and looked the man full in the face.
"You shall not have five thousand pence," she exclaimed, "not five thousand pence. My dead husband's money shall never pass into your hands, to be squandered in scenes of vice and crime. If you choose to live an honest life, I will allow you a hundred a year—a pension which shall be paid you quarterly—through the hands of my London solicitors. Beyond this, I will not give you a halfpenny."