“If you will open your purse, sir....”
“Well, there is something for your trouble. Now, what did she say?”
“Truly, sir, I think you will hardly win her,” said Speed with a sly look, pocketing the piece of money Proteus threw to him.
“Why? Could you perceive so much from her manner?”
“Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her—no, not so much as a ducat for delivering your letter. And as she was so hard to me who was your messenger, I fear she will prove equally hard to you. Give her no present but a stone, for she is as hard as steel.”
“What did she say? Nothing?” repeated poor Proteus.
“No, not so much as ‘Take that for your pains,’” said Speed, still harping on his own grievance. “I thank you for your bounty, sir. Henceforth carry your letters yourself. And so I will go seek my master.”
“Go, go, to save your ship from wreck!” cried Proteus, incensed at the fellow’s impertinence. “It cannot perish when you are aboard, for you are certainly destined for a drier death on shore!—I must find some better messenger to send,” he added to himself, when the saucy serving-man had taken himself off. “I am afraid my Julia would not deign to accept my lines, receiving them from such a worthless envoy.”
But, as it happened, the letter had so far not reached the hands of the lady for whom it was intended, for it was only her waiting-maid Lucetta whom Speed had seen, and to whom he had given the letter in mistake for Julia.