"Ten thousand pounds," answered old Bugbee, dropping the words slowly.
"When?"
"When the King is safe—when he is gone. In two days' time."
"That will not do!" and there was a ring of purpose in the Beauty's voice that made the old banker's heart beat quicker, and made him keenly attentive. She repeated: "That will not do! He may not go to America, or he may not remain here. He may be captured, or he may be killed. He may go to Aldershot to-morrow, despite all your plans. You know he intends to go. But I—I shall have risked everything, whether you win or lose, and at your bidding. Oh, no, my dear Mr. Bugbee, it will not do at all."
"What do you want, then?" asked the old man.
"I want the money now, and I want just double the sum you have named."
"You cannot have—"
"Then I shall go home;" and Mrs. Carey rose and began to arrange her cloak, but keeping her eyes on old Bugbee's face. Both were playing for the same stake, though only one knew it. Mrs. Carey read the old banker's purpose, but Bugbee had no idea that she had any outlook beyond the purchase money—twenty instead of ten thousand pounds. He was secretly not displeased at the demand, which seemed an indication of her sincerity.
"You shall have the money," he said, having pretended to consider. "I shall write a check now."
"I want the money; I do not want a check." And she remained standing.