“At last,” he thought, “she has come to open negotiations—to prepare the way; just as I expected. Now for the loan!”
At this moment Felise produced a casket from her bag, and placed it on the table. The silversmith’s heart fell; it was not the loan then, only some trifling repairs.
But at the sight of the pearls which she drew forth and placed upon the table, the eye of the old usurer (for such, in fact, he was) glistened again. Felise went to the point at once, and asked him to advance upon them as much money as he could. Here by her inexperience she committed a mistake by leaving him to fix the amount; she should have fixed it herself, and as high as possible. Felise was happily ignorant of the craft and subtleity of the world.
Humming and hawing as he handled the pearls, the silversmith raised his eyebrows in his most plaintive and deprecatory manner, and regretted that it would not be possible to advance much upon them. Pearls had dropped, pearls were not nearly so valuable; another pearl-fishery had just been discovered; there were large stocks now that could not be sold, and so forth.
“But they are worth a hundred and fifty pounds,” said Felise, beginning to feel very miserable. “Tell me now how much you can lend me.”
“Well,” said the silversmith, very, very deliberately, “it is unpleasant—it is hard to refuse; but really, Miss Goring, as a matter of business I don’t think I could advance anything.”
“Nothing!” said Felise, in blank despair.
“Not in the way of business,” said the silversmith, in the most caressing tones of a naturally low voice. “But still with a friend it is different.”
Felise began to sit very upright in her chair; she had a sense of insult, as if she was being put under an obligation.
“And for you or Mr. Goring’s convenience,” he continued, “of course I shall be most happy if you will permit me, as a favour to me, to advance a small sum upon them.”
Felise sank back again in her chair; he had put it the other way, as if he should be under an obligation to her.
“I should be very glad,” she said. “And how much?”
“Would now, let me see—ten pounds—”
“Oh dear no!” cried Felise. “Not nearly enough.”
“Fifteen pounds—”
“I want twice as much,” said Felise hastily, “I want thirty pounds—I mean I want twenty-eight pounds, if you please.”
This was another mistake; twenty-eight pounds, he saw at once, was the sum she would be satisfied with.
He paused and seemed to weigh the matter in his mind.
“Does Mr. Goring—excuse me—does Mr. Goring know you are bringing me these pearls?” he asked.
“No—no—that is—but they are mine, quite mine. They were my mother’s; I can do as I like with them.”
“And, pardon me again, are you of age?”
Felise’s heart fell as she faltered a negative.
“I am obliged to make these inquiries,” said the silversmith; “you must really pardon me. Under the circumstances, I think we had better let this be a purely friendly transaction, without any formal record. If I am willing to trust you with my money on your word that these are your pearls, will you trust them to me?”
“Of course I will—of course I will trust them to you.”
“Then there need be no writing at all; I will give you the twenty-eight pounds; you shall yourself put the pearls in my safe, and there they will remain. In six months’ time you will repay me the twenty-eight pounds with five percent interest, and I will restore you the pearls. Will that do?”
“Yes,” said Felise, though at the same time it occurred to her that there was no prospect whatever of her possessing the money at that date.
The silversmith had considered within himself that this transaction was one of those which could not be made valid by any ingenuity of terms. He looked for his profit in the influence he should possess with Miss Goring, who would forward his views if the little scheme alluded to came to be realised; he protected himself and would escape obloquy, if the transaction became known, by charging a merely nominal interest (for usurers); he further protected himself because there was not a scrap of writing to show that he had ever had the pearls. He felt certain they were worth fully two hundred pounds.
With her own hands Felise placed the casket in the safe, as if permission to personally deposit them was a guarantee of good faith on behalf of the receiver, and twenty-eight sovereigns were counted down on the table. The usurer in his most courtier-like manner took her to her pony-carriage, gave her the reins, and bowed in good style as she drove off.
Round the corner of the street Felise stopped at the private savings bank; she was barely in time; in fact, the hour for closing had struck, and to an ordinary customer it would have been too late. Felise’s presence seemed to fill the dingy room with so unusual a light that the cashier, dumb and nervous, hurried to carry out her wishes. Forty pounds were paid to her in notes, two pounds in gold; this made up the seventy pounds for Ruy. The pony-carriage went rattling down the street; Felise was happy, she had succeeded. Had the pearls been worth a thousand pounds, she would have left them for the twenty-eight.
For the craft and subtleity of this world are too deep for most of us. For instance, who would suspect an oyster of deceit? Yet the other afternoon, while looking at some red mullet in a fishmonger’s shop—red mullet are very nice, if you can persuade the cook to split them and remove the bitter substance which generally spoils them; you must have this done most carefully—while I was looking at the red mullet and feeling the slenderness of my purse, and thinking of Lucullus and Trimalchio’s banquet, and how red mullet really are very good—in short, while temptation trod on the heels of prudence, in steps
