"That's it!" said Mr. Quirk, rubbing his hands gleefully; "I'll tip him a tickler before he's a day older that shall wake him up—ah, ha!"
"You will do me one favor, Mr. Quirk, I am sure," said Mr. Gammon, with that civil but peremptory manner of his, which invariably commanded Quirk's assent to his suggestions—"you will insert a disclaimer in the letter of its emanating from me—or being with my consent."
"Oh lud, yes! yes! anything."
"Nay—rather against my wish, you know—eh? Just for appearance's sake—as I have always appeared so infernally civil to the man, till now."
"Will you draw it up yourself? And then, so as the other matter's all right—no flinching—stick in as much palaver, Gammon!—aha!—as you like!" replied Quirk; who, as the proposal involved only a greater measure of discourtesy on his part, without any sacrifice of his interest, regarded it with perfect indifference. He took his leave of Gammon in better spirits than those which he had carried with him. It having been thus determined on by the partners, that within a day or two's time, Mr. Aubrey should be required to pay the whole balance, under penalty of an arrest—Gammon, on being left alone, folded his arms as he sat beside his breakfast-table—and meditated on the probable results of this his first hostile move against Mr. Aubrey. "I wonder whether she's told him," thought he, with a slight palpitation—which was somewhat increased by a pretty sharp knock at his outer door. The color suddenly deserted his cheek as he started from his seat, scattering on the floor nearly a dozen unopened letters which had been lying at his elbow, on the table: and he stood still for a moment to subdue a little of his agitation, so as to enable him to present himself with some show of calmness before the visitor whom he felt perfectly certain that he should see on opening the door. He was right. The next minute beheld him ushering into his room, with a surprising degree of self-possession, Mr. Aubrey, whose countenance showed embarrassment and agitation.
"I have called upon you, Mr. Gammon," commenced Aubrey, taking the seat to which Mr. Gammon, with great courtesy, motioned him, and then resumed his own, "in consequence of your visit yesterday in Vivian Street—of your surprising interview with my sister—your most unexpected, extraordinary proposal to her."
Mr. Gammon listened respectfully, with an air of earnest attention, evidently not intending to make any reply.
"It cannot surprise you, sir, that I should have been made acquainted with it immediately on my return home yesterday evening. It was undoubtedly my sister's duty to do so; but she did it, I am bound to acknowledge to you, sir, with great reluctance, as a matter of exquisitely painful delicacy. Sir, she has told me all that passed between you."
"I cannot presume, Mr. Aubrey, to find fault with anything Miss Aubrey may have thought proper to do; she cannot do wrong," replied Gammon, calmly, though Mr. Aubrey's last words had occasioned him lively anxiety as to the extent of Miss Aubrey's communications to her brother. He observed Mr. Aubrey's eyes fixed upon him steadfastly, and saw that he was laboring under much excitement. "If I have done anything calculated to inflict the slightest pain upon a lady for whom I have so profound"—he saw the color mounting into Mr. Aubrey's cheek, and a sterner expression appearing in his eye—"a respect, or upon you, or any of your family, I am distressed beyond measure."
"I perfectly appreciate, Mr. Gammon, the position in which we stand with regard to each other," said Mr. Aubrey, with forced calmness. "Though I am fearfully changed in respect of fortune, I am not a whit changed—we are none of us changed," he continued proudly, "in respect of personal feelings and character."