She ran her gaze over him, and allowed her eyelashes to flutter down. “I am afraid your broken dinner engagement will not be so easy to explain. I am not boring you, am I?” She raised her eyes to his and smiled into his face. Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you. She dismissed the idea of doing so. But not a word to him of Lady Trafford's absence—mind that. But don’t run away with the idea that I’m hanging out for a wife at last, because I’m not. What is it you’re after? Money, I suppose. "More than you'll pay for it, friend," snuffled the Jew. ‘Is she the Frenchie we’ve been watching for then, sir?’ The lady’s furious features turned on this new target. I will never consent till I see him. Wood, Sir," he added, with much emotion, "is one of the best of men, and would be the happiest, were it not that—" and he hesitated.
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