the happy understanding that has put me"—she gained confidence—"well, in a position. Do drive after them, if you like—but catch up with them only to forgive them. If you'll do that, I'll pay your price."
The particular air with which, a minute after Mrs. Gracedew had spoken these words, Mr. Prodmore achieved a transfer of his attention to the inside of his hat—this special shade of majesty would have taxed the descriptive resources of the most accomplished reporter. It is none the less certain that he appeared for some time absorbed in that receptacle—appeared at last to breathe into it hard. "What do you call my price?"
"Why, the sum you just mentioned—fifty thousand!" Mrs. Gracedew feverishly quavered.
He looked at her as if stupefied. "That's not my price—and it never for a moment was!" If derision can be dry, Mr. Prodmore's was of the driest. "Besides," he rang out, "my price is up!"
She caught it with a long wail. "Up?"
Oh, he let her have it now! "Seventy thousand."
She turned away overwhelmed, but still with voice for her despair. "Oh, deary me!"
