A knock on the door interrupted his flow of eloquence, and the clerk, from without, announced that Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert’s chariot had just driven to the door, and that "his Ludship" was in the act of alighting. "Great Heaven!" cried Prue, turning scarlet and then pale. "How shall I escape? I would not be found here by him for a thousand pounds! Do not admit him, good Mr. Aarons, I beseech you—" "Take Sir Geoffrey up-stairs, Jacob, and tell him I am engaged, but will wait on him anon," said the Jew. Then turning to his fair client with an insinuating smile, he added, "Now, if your ladyship chooses, you may have an opportunity of judging between my statement of this gentleman’s finances and his own—" He indicated, by a gesture, a door in an obscure corner of the room. "What! play the spy upon my betrothed husband? Never, never!" exclaimed Prue indignantly. Yet she did not go away, and her pliant form seemed to sway toward the little dark door, as though a stronger will than her own controlled her muscles. "’Tis no harm," said the Jew, in his silkiest tones, as he opened the door leading into a room scarcely bigger than a closet, but light, and furnished with a single chair, and a table littered with papers and thick with dust. Half-involuntarily, Prue yielded, and the door closed upon her. "I need not listen," she said, half-apologizing to herself for an action she disdained. But the room was small, and that, perhaps, was why she did not think it worth while to move away from the door. The blood rushed to her head when she heard Sir Geoffrey’s voice, and for some moments she was conscious of nothing but a confused murmur, out of which, at last, her own name rang sharp and clear. "The Lady Prudence Brooke has honored me by accepting my hand," she heard Sir Geoffrey say, in a tone that was evidently intended to discourage adverse comment. "I congratulate your Honor," said Aarons politely. "The lady’s charms do credit to your choice. But such luxuries are costly, and I am not surprised that you need money. It is unfortunate that times are so hard and money so scarce. I have just suffered a terrible loss. The death of Lord Boscommon, whose father survives him, has turned ten thousand pounds’ worth of post-obits into waste paper, and the failure of Johnson and—but this does not interest your Honor. Beset as I am, I shall be able to accommodate an old and valued client like yourself, no doubt, if the security is satisfactory. You have good security to offer, of course?" "Oh! it is no use beating about the bush with you, Aarons. I have no fresh security, but you can surely let me have a couple of thousand more on the Yorkshire estate."