"I was not thinking of myself when I made so unmet an exclamation," he explained.
"Oh! of me?" remarked Dolly. "Yes, indeed, what I said was quite true—I shall not be here very long, and I am afraid I cannot go quite happily unless I see some near prospect of my husband obtaining his discharge."
Hearing this, Mr. Asherill shook his head—he was sorry—he feared—he lamented—but he felt compelled to say, he saw no chance of Mr. Mortomley ever getting free till he had paid ten shillings in the pound.
Then Dolly showed him her hand—showed him the memoranda she had made, the evidence of utter incompetence, of gross mismanagement, of senseless neglect that might be laid before another meeting of creditors.
She showed him that with energy and money the story of Mortomley's Estate might be made something more real than an empty tale; something out of which a man's freedom unjustly withheld could be justly purchased.
"You can get it for him without all that fuss and trouble," she said at last wearily, folding up the papers and laying them aside. "It is to be done quietly, I know; and if you like you can do it."
He remained silent for a few minutes, then he spoke—
"I do not like talking about business on a Sunday, but still this is a work of necessity. I will think the matter over and see you again to-morrow."
"Very well," answered Mrs. Mortomley, adding slyly "this is a work of very great necessity."
Mr. Asherill thought it was, at all events. He did not like the turn affairs had taken; and the more he reflected, the more inclined he felt to throw Mr. Swanland over and take sides with Mortomley.