Fifty guineas! Your fault, a good deal, you know; you made
me think worse of it than it deserved. You'll see; Blackstaffe'll
make a small fortune out of it; of course he has all the rights--
idiot that I was! Well, it's too late to talk about that.--And I
say, old man, don't take my growl too literally. I don't really mean
that you were to blame. I should be an ungrateful cur if I thought
such a thing."
"How's 'The Slummer' getting on?" asked Warburton good-humouredly.
"Well, I was going to say that I shall have it finished in a few
weeks. If Blackstaffe wants 'The Slummer' he'll have to pay for it.
Of course it must go to the Academy, and of course I shall keep all
the rights--unless Blackstaffe makes a really handsome offer. Why,
it ought to be worth five or six hundred to me at least. And that
would start us. But I don't care even if I only get half that, I
shall be married all the same. Rosamund has plenty of pluck. I
couldn't ask her to start life on a pound a week--about my average
for the last two years; but with two or three hundred in hand, and a
decent little house, like that of Mrs. Cross's, at a reasonable rent
--well, we shall risk it. I'm sick of waiting. And it isn't fair to
a girl--that's my view. Two years now; an engagement that lasts
more than two years isn't likely to come to much good. You'll think
my behaviour pretty cool, on one point. I don't forget, you old
usurer, that I owe you something more than a hundred pounds--"
"Pooh!"
"Be poohed yourself! But for you, I should have gone without dinner
many a day; but for you, I should most likely have had to chuck
painting altogether, and turn clerk or dock-labourer.
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