“My business, ma’am, is of a very delicate nature—of a nature very delicate indeed. But I think that you and I, who understand the world, may soon come to understand each other.”
“Oh, you understand the world. Very well, sir. Go on.”
“Now, ma’am, money is money, you know.”
“And a goose is a goose; but what of that?”
“Yes; a goose is a goose, and some people are not geese. Nobody, ma’am, would think of calling you a goose.”
“I hope not. It would be so uncivil, even an Englishman would not say it. Will you go on?”
“I think you have the pleasure of knowing Lady Ongar?”
“Knowing who?” said Sophie, almost shrieking.
“Lady Ongar.”
During the last day or two Sophie’s mind had been concerned very much with her dear Julie, but had not been concerned at all with the affairs of Captain Clavering, and, therefore, when Lady Ongar’s name was mentioned, her mind went away altogether to the quarrel, and did not once refer itself to the captain. Could it be that this was an attorney, and was it possible that Julie would be mean enough to make claims upon her? Claims might be made for more than those twenty pounds. “And you,” she said, “do you know Lady Ongar?”
“I have not that honour myself.”
“Oh, you have not; and do you want to be introduced?”
“Not exactly—not at present; at some future day I shall hope to have the pleasure. But I am right in believing that she and you are very intimate? Now what are you going to do for my friend Archie Clavering?”
“Oh-h-h!” exclaimed Sophie.
“Yes. What are you going to do for my friend Archie Clavering? Seventy pounds, you know, ma’am, is a smart bit of money!”
“A smart bit of money, is it? That is what you think on your leetle property down in Warwickshire.”
“It isn’t my property, ma’am, at all. It belongs to my uncle.”
“Oh, it is your uncle that has the leetle property. And what had your uncle to do with Lady Ongar? What is your uncle to your friend Archie?”
“Nothing at all, ma’am; nothing on earth.”
“Then why do you tell me all this rigmarole about your uncle and his leetle property, and Warwickshire? What have I to do with your uncle? Sir, I do not understand you—not at all. Nor do I know why I have the honour to see you here, Captain Bood‑dle.”
Even Doodles, redoubtable as he was—even he, with all his smartness, felt that he was overcome, and that this woman was too much for him. He was altogether perplexed, as he could not perceive whether in all her tirade about the little property she had really misunderstood him, and had in truth thought that he had been talking about his uncle, or whether the whole thing was cunning on her part. The reader, perhaps, will have a more correct idea of this lady than Captain Boodle had been able to obtain. She had now risen from her sofa, and was standing as though she expected him to go; but he had not as yet opened the budget of his business.
“I am here, ma’am,” said he, “to speak to you about my friend, Captain Clavering.”
“Then you can go back to your friend, and tell him I have nothing to say. And, more than that, Captain Booddle”—the woman intensified the name in a most disgusting manner, with the evident purpose of annoying him; of that he had become quite sure—“more than that, his sending you here is an impertinence. Will you tell him that?”
“No, ma’am, I will not.”
“Perhaps you are his laquais,” continued the inexhaustible Sophie, “and are obliged to come when he send you?”
“I am no man’s laquais, ma’am.”
“If so, I do not blame you; or, perhaps, it is your way to make your love third or fourth hand down in Warwickshire?”
“Damn Warwickshire!” said Doodles, who was put beyond himself.
“With all my heart. Damn Warwickshire.” And the horrid woman grinned at him as she repeated his words. “And the leetle property, and the uncle, if you wish it; and the leetle nephew—and the leetle nephew—and the leetle nephew!” She stood over him as she repeated the last words with wondrous rapidity, and grinned at him, and grimaced and shook herself, till Doodles was altogether bewildered. If this was a Russian spy he would avoid such in future, and keep himself for the milder acerbities of Newmarket, and the easier chaff of his club. He looked up into her face at the present moment, striving to think of some words by which he might assist himself. He had as yet performed no part of his mission, but any such performance was now entirely out of the question. The woman had defied him, and had altogether thrown Clavering overboard. There was no further question of her services, and therefore he felt himself to be quite entitled to twit her with the payment she had taken.
“And how about my friend’s seventy pounds?” said he.
“How about seventy pounds! a leetle man comes here and tells me he is a Booddle in Warwickshire, and says he has an uncle with a very leetle property, and asks me how about seventy pounds! Suppose I ask you how about the policeman, what will you say then?”
“You send for him and you shall hear what I say.”
“No; not to take away such a leetle man as you. I send for a policeman when I am afraid. Booddle in Warwickshire is not a terrible man. Suppose you go to your friend and tell him from me that he have chose a very bad Mercury in his affairs of love;—the worst Mercury I ever see. Perhaps the Warwickshire Mercuries are not very good. Can you tell me, Captain Booddle, how they make love down in Warwickshire?”
“And that is all the satisfaction I am to have?”
“Who said you was to have satisfaction? Very little satisfaction I should think you
