The Baron seemed still more to experience regret.
‘What furniture does she specially covet?’ he asked.
‘Silver candlesticks, work-tables, looking-glasses, gold tea-things, silver tea-pots, gold clocks, curtains, pictures, and I don’t know what all—things I shall never get if I live to be a hundred—not so much that I couldn’t raise the money to buy ’em, as that to put it to other uses, or save it for a rainy day.’
‘You think the possession of those articles would make her happy?’
‘I really think they might, my lord.’
‘Good. Open your pocket-book and write as I tell you.’
Jim in some astonishment did as commanded, and elevating his pocket-book against the garden-wall, thoroughly moistened his pencil, and wrote at the Baron’s dictation:
‘Pair of silver candlesticks: inlaid work-table and work-box: one large mirror: two small ditto: one gilt china tea and coffee service: one silver tea-pot, coffee-pot, sugar-basin, jug, and dozen spoons: French clock: pair of curtains: six large pictures.’
‘Now,’ said the Baron, ‘tear out that leaf and give it to me. Keep a close tongue about this; go home, and don’t be surprised at anything that may come to your door.’
‘But, my noble lord, you don’t mean that your lordship is going to give—’