“I will give you five pounds, if you do.”
“It is impossible, sir; I should lose my situation instantly if I attempted to deliver it. Miss Gourlay, sir, will receive no letters unless through her father's hands, and besides, sir, we have repeatedly had the most positive orders not to receive any from you, above all men living.”
“I will give you ten pounds.”
Gibson shook his head, but at the same time the expression of his countenance began manifestly to relax, and he licked his lips as he replied, “I—really—could—not—sir.”
“Twenty.”
The fellow paused and looked stealthily in every direction, when, just at the moment he was about to entertain the subject, Thomas Corbet, the house-steward, came forward from the front parlor where he evidently had been listening, and asked Gibson what was the matter.
“This gentleman,” said Gibson, “ahem—is anxious to have a—ahem—he was inquiring for Sir Thomas.”
“Gibson, go down stairs,” said Corbet. “You had better do so. I have ears, Gibson. Go down at once, and leave the gentleman to me.”
Gibson again licked his lips, shrugged his shoulders, and with a visage rather blank and disappointed, slunk away as he had been desired. When he had gone,
“You wish, sir,” said Corbet, “to have a note delivered to Miss Gourlay?”