“What are the seven hundred and fifty pounds for?” she asked.
“Interest for three years at five per cent. per annum.”
“I thought you would have got me seven per cent. at the least,” she said ungraciously. “My man of business tells me that seven is quite a common thing nowadays. He says that he can get me nine or ten per cent. on real property, without any difficulty.”
“I should advise you to be careful what you are about,” said the Squire, gravely. “Big profits, big risks; little profits, little risks.”
“I know perfectly well what I’m doing,” said Mrs. McDermott, with a toss of her antiquated curls. “It’s you slow, sleepy, country folks, who crawl behind the times, and miss half the golden chances that come to people who keep their eyes wide open.”
The Squire shook his head, but said no more. He groaned in spirit when he thought what his “golden chance” had done for him.
“Let her buy her experience as I’ve bought mine,” he said to himself. “From a girl she was always pig-headed: let her pay for it.”
“Have you any idea how long your aunt is likely to stay?” he asked Jane, a day or two later.
“No idea whatever, papa. If the quantity of her luggage is anything to go by, I should say that her stay is likely to be a long one.”
“I hope not, with all my heart,” sighed the Squire.