I could see that she was suffering from conflicting lines of reasoning. Her haughtiness changed and her eyes softened.
"Mr. Bremner,—what do I owe for the work,—please?" she pleaded. "You are a gentleman,—you cannot hide that from me."
Discovered! I said to myself.
"Surely you understand my position? Surely you do not wish to embarrass me?"
Ah, well! I thought. If it will please her, so be it. And I'll make it a stiff charge for spite.
"Thirty dollars!" I exclaimed, as if it had been three. "Our labour was worth that much." I looked straight at her in a businesslike way.
It was her turn to gasp, but she recovered herself quickly.
"The cost of labour is, I presume, high, up here?" she commented.
"Yes!—very high,—sky-high! You see, I shall have to pay that old Jew-rascal assistant of mine at least two and a half dollars for his share, so that it will not leave very much for the master-mind that engineered the project."
She turned her eyes on me to ascertain if I were funning or in earnest, but my face betrayed nothing but the greatest seriousness.