“How d'ye know that?—I'll show you the contrary, you silly wench,” answered Mowbray—“Here is a banker's bill, payable to your own order, for the cash you lent me, and something over—don't let old Mick have the fingering, but let Bindloose manage it for you—he is the honester man between two d——d knaves.”
“Will not you, brother, send it to the man Bindloose yourself?”
“No,—no,” replied Mowbray—“he might confuse it with some of my transactions, and so you forfeit your stake.”
“Well, I am glad you are able to pay me, for I want to buy Campbell's new work.”
“I wish you joy of your purchase—but don't scratch me for not caring about it—I know as little of books as you of the long odds. And come now, be serious, and tell me if you will be a good girl—lay aside your whims, and receive this English young nobleman like a lady as you are?”
“That were easy,” said Clara—“but—but—Pray, ask no more of me than just to see him.—Say to him at once, I am a poor creature in body, in mind, in spirits, in temper, in understanding—above all, say that I can receive him only once.”
“I shall say no such thing,” said Mowbray, bluntly; “it is good to be plain with you at once—I thought of putting off this discussion—but since it must come, the sooner it is over the better.—You are to understand, Clara Mowbray, that Lord Etherington has a particular view in this visit, and that his view has my full sanction and approbation.”
“I thought so,” said Clara, in the same altered tone of voice in which she had before spoken; “my mind foreboded this last of misfortunes!—But, Mowbray, you have no child before you—I neither will nor can see this nobleman.”
“How!” exclaimed Mowbray, fiercely; “do you dare return me so peremptory an answer?—Think better of it, for, if we differ, you will find you will have the worst of the game.”
“Rely upon it,” she continued, with more vehemence, “I will see him nor no man upon the footing you mention—my resolution is taken, and threats and entreaties will prove equally unavailing.”