She smiled a little, and met his glance with a most deceptive air of innocent curiosity.
"And who is the gentleman, Mr. Aarons?" she inquired, in her sweetest tone, with but the hint of an emphasis.
"Can you not guess?" he replied more boldly.
"Faith, I came hither seeking a money-broker, and was not prepared to find a marriage-broker instead!" she said, shrugging her pretty shoulders. "Do not keep me in suspense, good Aarons; I am dying to know the name of the admirable creature who desires to rescue me from poverty—and Sir Geoffrey—and confer so many benefits upon my unworthiness."
He placed his hand upon his breast, and bowed deeply.
"You see him here, fair Lady Prudence," he said. "The humblest of slaves, the most ardent of admirers and, if you will, the most devoted and indulgent of husbands."
She burst into a peal of laughter, but the faint note of bitterness that permeated the charming music was not lost upon the money-lender's sharp ear.
"Truly, Mr. Aarons, your jest is subtle and well-conceived, and a fitting rebuke to my silly vanity," she began. But he interrupted her, "In truth, Madam, 'tis no jest, but a serious offer. I have always admired your ladyship, and a year ago, endeavored to give fitting expression—"
A knock on the door interrupted his flow of eloquence, and the clerk, from without, announced that Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert's chariot had just driven to the door, and that "his Ludship" was in the act of alighting.
"Great Heaven!" cried Prue, turning scarlet and then pale. "How shall I escape? I would not be found here by him for a thousand pounds! Do not admit him, good Mr. Aarons, I beseech you—"