“I’ll be the owner of it yet,” said Swinton, referring not to the country, but the Fifth Avenue house. “I’ll own it, if I have to spend ten years in carrying out the speculation.”
“You still intend going on with it then?”
“Of course I do. Why should I give it up?”
“Perhaps you’ve lost the chance. This Mr Lucas may have got into the lady’s good graces?”
“Bah! I’ve nothing to fear from him—the common-looking brute! He’s after her, no doubt. What of that? I take it he’s not the style to make much way with Miss Julia Girdwood. Besides, I’ve reason to know the mother won’t have it. If I’ve lost the chance in any other way, I may thank you for it, madam.”
“Me! And how, I should like to know?”
“But for you I might have been here months ago; in good time to have taken steps against their departure; or, still better, found some excuse for going along with them. That’s what I could have done. It’s the time we have lost—in getting together the cash to buy tickets for two.”
“Indeed! And I’m answerable for that, I suppose? I think I made up my share. You seem to forget the selling of my gold watch, my rings and bracelets—even to my poor pencil-case?”
“Who gave them to you?”
“Indeed! it’s like you to remember it! I wish I had never accepted them.”