Mr. Probus perceived that I was wavering. He pulled a paper out of his pocket—he slapped it on the table and unrolled it: he looked about for ink and pen.
'You agree?' he asked with an unholy joy lighting up his eyes. 'Why—there—I knew you would! I told Mr. Matthew that you would. Happy man! Three thousand pounds! And all your own! And all for nothing! Where is the ink? Because, Sir—I can be your witness—that cousin of yours, I may now tell you, is stronger than any bull—sign here, then, Sir—here—he will live for ever.'
His eagerness, which he could not conceal, to obtain my signature startled me. Again I remembered the words:
'We will make him sell his reversion.'
'Stop, Mr. Probus,' I said. 'Not so quick, if you please.'
'Not so quick! Why, dear Sir, you have acceded. You have acceded. Where is the ink?'
'Not at all.'
'If you would like better terms I might raise it another fifty pounds.'
'Not even another fifty will persuade me.' At that moment I heard Alice singing,
'The Lord my pasture shall prepare,
And lead me with a shepherd's care.'