“The child” (she was rather more than that) “is saucy,” said my lady, who understood well enough what her gestures meant. “I should like to box her ears. You were very silent just now, Mr. Wynne. A penny is what most folks’ thoughts are bid for, but yours may be worth more. I would not stand at a shilling.”
“Then give it to me,” said I. “I assure thee a guinea were too little.”
“What are they?”
“Oh, but the shilling.”
“I promise.”
“I seem to see a little, dark-faced child crying because of a boy in disgrace—”
“Pretty?” she asked demurely.
“No, rather plain.”
“You seem to have too good a memory, sir. Who was she?”
“She is not here to-day.”