Mr. Broughton's room, and occupied each an arm-chair on the different sides of the fire. Mr. Musselboro was sitting close to the table, on which a ledger was open before him, and he had a pen and ink before him, as though he had been at work. Dobbs Broughton had a small betting-book in his hand, and was seated with his feet up against the side of the fireplace. Both men wore their hats, and the aspect of the room was not the aspect of a place of business. They had been silent for some minutes when Broughton took his cigar-case out of his pocket, and nibbled off the end of a cigar, preparatory to lighting it.
"You had better not smoke here this morning, Dobbs," said Musselboro.
"Why shouldn't I smoke in my own room?"
"Because she'll be here just now."
"What do I care? If you think I'm going to be afraid of Mother Van, you're mistaken. Let come what may, I'm not going to live under her thumb." So he lighted his cigar.
"All right," said Musselboro, and he took up his pen and went to work at his book.
"What is she coming here for this morning?" asked Broughton.
"To look after her money. What should she come for?"
"She gets her interest. I don't suppose there's better paid money in the City."
"She hasn't got what was coming to her at Christmas yet."
"And this is February. What would she have? She had better put her dirty money into the three per cents., if she is frightened at having to wait a week or two."
"Can she have it to-day?"
"What, the whole of it? Of course she can't. You know that as well as I do. She can have four hundred pounds, if she wants it. But seeing all she gets out of the concern, she has no right to press for it in that way. She is the old usurer I ever came across in my life."
"Of course she likes her money."
"Likes her money! By George she does; her own and anybody else's that she can get hold of. For a downright leech, recommend me always to a woman. When a woman does go in for it, she is much more thorough than any man." Then Broughton turned over the little pages of his book, and Musselboro pondered over the big pages of his book, and there was silence for a quarter of an hour.
"There's something about nine hundred and fifteen pounds due to her," said Musselboro.
"I daresay there is."
