I felt my face redden, and could not find words to answer.
“Before I name the sum that I would borrow,” pursued Mr. Hartley, without appearing to notice my confusion, “and as the loan must be regulated by the state of your own finances, let me inquire what money you brought to town. Men coming to London are generally well provided.”
What a question from a stranger! Surely I should resent it as impertinent. But no—the man appeared gifted with some influence that bent me to his will—and I muttered, that when I embarked for England my purse had contained two hundred pounds.
“Faith, not a bad supply. Could you with convenience spare me half?”
I groaned, and shook my head. .
“Fifty, then?”
Another and a more desponding shake.
“Well, be it forty. No answer. Thirty—twenty—ten! No answer yet? Then is my request refused? So much for the lip-gratitude of Mr. Hector O’Halloran!”
I thought my brain would madden, as the humiliating position to which my folly had reduced me, was thus rudely exposed by this tormenting supplicant. I tried to speak—‘twas useless; words would not come. Another minute passed—and Mr. Hartley’s eyes were turned on mine, as if he would have read the secret agony of spirit which his importunity had caused.
“Well,” continued he, “should I solicit five paltry pounds—would that small assistance be refused?”