Mrs. Pounce presented herself superbly dressed in walking costume. Was she going out; or had she just returned to the inn? Not a word escaped her; she waited gravely to hear what the gentlemen wanted. Cosway, presuming on his position as favorite, produced the contents of the two pocketbooks and revealed the melancholy truth.
“There is all the money we have,” he concluded. “We hope you will not object to receive the balance in a bill at three months.”
Mrs. Pounce answered with a stern composure of voice and manner entirely new in the experience of Cosway and Stone.
“I have paid ready money, gentlemen, for the hire of your horses and carriages,” she said; “here are the receipts from the livery stables to vouch for me; I never accept bills unless I am quite sure beforehand that they will be honored. I defy you to find an overcharge in the account now rendered; and I expect you to pay it before you leave my house.”
Stone looked at his watch.
“In three-quarters of an hour,” he said, “we must be on board.”
Mrs. Pounce entirely agreed with him. “And if you are not on board,” she remarked “you will be tried by court-martial, and dismissed the service with your characters ruined for life.”
“My dear creature, we haven’t time to send home, and we know nobody in the town,” pleaded Cosway. “For God’s sake take our watches and jewelry, and our luggage—and let us go.”
“I am not a pawnbroker,” said the inflexible lady. “You must either pay your lawful debt to me in honest money, or—”
She paused and looked at Cosway. Her fat face brightened—she smiled graciously for the first time.