This was said jokingly; but it was very easy to see that the speaker would not care to be thought serious; and this Cressingham perceived.
"Harry," he said, "are you in earnest?"
"To be sure I am," replied Raeburn; "never was more in earnest in my life."
"Then I'm your man, Harry, if we can agree about the terms," rejoined Cressingham. "What say you about the consideration."
"Why, I don't know; you see she is a very handsome girl, Tom; and, on the word of a gentleman, I assure you, she is as amiable as she is lovely."
"Well, at a word, Harry," said Cressingham, "I'll give you five thousand pounds sterling money, the day that woman becomes my wife; you being at the expense of bringing her out, and managing all that part of the business."
"Done!" said Raeburn.
"Done!" said Cressingham. And they struck hands upon the bargain.
Raeburn's villany, good reader, is now before you fully and fairly. The conversation just recorded was no joke, but, as he himself acknowledged, downright earnest; and it will readily be conceded, we think, that a piece of more heartless depravity is not upon record. Neither, we beg to assure the reader, is this villany imaginary, nor the character of Raeburn the invention of fancy. The villany was actually perpetrated, and the villain actually lived.
Fanny's portrait had been sent for for the express purpose of turning it to the account to which we have seen it applied. He had sent for it that he might exhibit it as a sample of goods which he had to dispose of, and which he meant to sell to the highest bidder; and it was with this view—with the view of finding a purchaser—that he had hung the portrait of his victim in a conspicuous place, and had urged on the notice of his visiters the various beauties which it displayed.