This was the peculiarly diplomatic manner in which Miss Hope, finding that Heather inclined to do nothing, commenced her operations.
The time was breakfast; scene, the dining-room at Berrie Down, with all the windows open; actors, Miss Hope and Mr. Black: interested spectators, the family and visitors generally.
“Pray,” began the spinster, coquetting, as she spoke, with a peach which might have been grown in Eden, it looked so fresh and tempting; “pray, Mr. Black, can you tell me of a good investment for a small sum of money?”
Across the table Mr. Black looked at her, with a merry twinkle in his eyes; then he answered,—
“Yes, the Three per Cents.”
“But my friend would not be satisfied with three per cent.,” said Miss Hope.
“A mortgage, or some good freehold estate, might suit her then,” suggested Mr. Black.
“I did not say it was a lady, so far as I am aware,” remarked Miss Hope.
“No; but I concluded no man would ask a lady friend to make such inquiries for him,” explained her antagonist. “She might get four, or even four and a half, and still be safe enough.”
“But what is four and a half?” observed Miss Hope.