"I want money—no wife!" moodily replied Perozzi, draining a third glass.
"Precisely—money," answered the other; "and that is what the fair hand of Mildred tenders you."
"One hundred thousand dollars, did you say, Donaldson?" said the Spaniard, with a searching gaze.
"I did. Fifty thousand with the wedding-ring, and the balance when the old man, her grandfather, dies."
Excellent, by the Virgin!—ha-ha-ha! No one can dispute your skill in diplomacy; but methinks it would be well to know by what method you propose to bring about a "consummation so devoutly to be wished," said Perozzi, with a sneer.
"Leave that to me; only act with me, and Mildred Ward becomes your wife just so certain as I now drink to you—your health, signor."
"And, pray, allow me to ask," said Perozzi, "what benefit you expect to reap from such unparalleled generosity—it cannot surely be out of pure love to me that you thus
"Buckle fortune on my back
To bear her burthen whether I will or no!"
"You are right," answered Mr. Donaldson, dropping the servile tone in which he had before spoken, "you are right—it is from no love to you; my object is this. You know as well as I do the utter impracticability of my refunding any part of the money I owe you at present. True, you may seize my estates, but this I think you will hardly do in preference to the plan I propose; it would be at best but a vexatious affair, while by accepting my proposition you secure not only an equivalent for your debt, but also the hand of a charming young girl."
"Well, well, to the point," interrupted the Spaniard, impatiently.