"I will give you ten guineas, cash," he said, after a pause.
"When you know my secret, you will think it cheap at ten times ten guineas," said Goodridge.
Aarons rose and began to button his surtout. "I see," he said, "that we are not like to agree, and as my time is valuable you will excuse me if I leave you to finish the bottle alone." As he spoke, he allowed some loose coins to rattle in his pocket, and in paying the reckoning, pulled out a handful of golden guineas and tossed one to the waiter.
The sight of the money produced the effect he had expected. Goodridge's moist eyes glistened and his lips pursed themselves greedily. "Sit down, Aarons," he said thickly, "and have a parting glass."
With an air of reserve and ill-humor, the usurer poured a small quantity of wine into his glass and without resuming his seat nodded to his guest, and muttering something that might have been either a toast or a malediction, sipped it with a deprecatory expression.
"Come now," said Goodridge, after waiting vainly for him to renew the negotiations; "what is it really worth to you to stop this marriage?"
"It may not be worth a great deal to me," said Aarons carelessly, but he sat down; "you never can account for women's vagaries. If I get her out of this affair, she may do worse instead of better."
"She can't do worse," chuckled Goodridge. But Aarons had not the key to his merriment and all his suspicions were centered on some unpardonable misdeed of the bridegroom elect.
"Were you going to tell her so when I met you at her house?" he inquired, smiling grimly. "What do you expect to get from her?"
"That's my business," he retorted. "But I wasn't going to offer her any secrets for sale. Oh! no, the Lady Prudence is my good friend, and if I need a few guineas, she's too kind-hearted to refuse me."