Baron Levy glanced toward the thick mahogany doors—thick and impervious as should be the doors of statesmen. “Why, you know that, with three words from you, I could produce an effect upon the stocks of three nations, that might give us each a hundred thousand pounds. We would go shares.”
“Levy,” said Egerton coldly, though a deep blush overspread his face, “you are a scoundrel; that is your look out. I interfere with no man’s tastes and consciences. I don’t intend to be a scoundrel myself. I have told you that long ago.”
The Baron laughed, without evincing the least displeasure.
“Well,” said he, “you are neither wise nor complimentary; but you shall have the money. But yet, would it not be better,” added Levy, with emphasis, “to borrow it, without interest, of your friend L’Estrange?”
Egerton started as if stung.
“You mean to taunt me, sir!” he exclaimed passionately. “I accept pecuniary favors from Lord L’Estrange! I!”
“Tut, my dear Egerton, I dare say my Lord would not think so ill now of that little act in your life which—”
“Hold, hold!” exclaimed Egerton, writhing. “Hold!”
He stopped, and paced the room, muttering in broken sentences, “To blush before this man! Chastisement, chastisement!”
Levy gazed on him with hard and sinister eyes. The minister turned abruptly.