“And I say again, that on ninety pounds a-year it would be idiotcy.”
“But,” persisted the ardent Jones, “she is so good, such a clever housekeeper that I think she could make ninety pounds a-year go very far indeed.”
“And who, may I ask, is this paragon?”
“Oh! Mr. Lowndes, forgive me—pity me. I love your daughter.”
Mr. Jones, in all the scenes which his lively imagination had conjured up as likely to follow his proposal, did not imagine that which really occurred. Lowndes jumped from his chair; he became erect, his eyes flashed as he cried,—
“You scoundrel! You fool! Have you breathed word of this to her?”
“Not a word, upon my soul.”
“Old Boots” sank back into his chair, apparently much relieved.
“Then don’t,” he said, menacingly. “Tomorrow I will leave this. Do not attempt to follow us. The consequences be on your own head if you do.”
At that moment the door of the sitting-room opened, and two men entered, followed by Jessie, pale and alarmed.