“It don't matter to me,” said Mr. Kemp. “I can have a headache or a chill, or something of that sort, if you like. I don't want to go. It's no pleasure to me.”
“What will it cost?” demanded Mr. Wright, pacing up and down the room.
The rich uncle made a calculation. “She wants to go to a place called the Empire,” he said, slowly, “and have something for supper, and there'd be cabs and things. I dessay it would cost a couple o' pounds, and it might be more. But I'd just as soon ave' a chill—just.”
Mr. Wright groaned, and after talking of Mrs. Bradshaw as though she were already his mother-in-law, produced the money. His instructions as to economy lasted almost up to the moment when he stood with Bella outside the shop on the following evening and watched the couple go off.
“It's wonderful how well they get on together,” said Bella, as they re-entered the shop and passed into the parlour. “I've never seen mother take to anybody so quick as she has to him.”
“I hope you like him, too,” said Mr. Wright.
“He's a dear,” said Bella. “Fancy having all that money. I wonder what it feels like?”
“I suppose I shall know some day,” said the young man, slowly; “but it won't be much good to me unless——”
“Unless?” said Bella, after a pause.
“Unless it gives me what I want,” replied the other. “I'd sooner be a poor man and married to the girl I love, than a millionaire.”