"Yes, when it's with nobodies; but I won't sit by and hear you tell our old neighbour, who wants a bit of help, that you couldn't do it, and that you haven't the money, when anybody can see it sticking out in lumps in both of your breeches' pockets, if they like to look." "'Pon my soul, woman," said Barclay, banging his fist down upon the table, "you're enough to drive a man mad. Denville, that woman will ruin me." Mrs Barclay shut up her fan and sat back in her chair, and there was a curious kind of palpitating throbbing perceptible all over her that was almost startling at first till her face broke up in dimples, and the red lips parted, showing her white teeth, while her eyes half-closed. For Mrs Barclay was laughing heartily. "Ruin him, Mr Denville, ruin him!" she cried. "Ha, ha, ha, and me knowing that--" "Woman, will you hold your tongue?" thundered Barclay. "There, don't take any notice of what I said, Denville. I've been put out this morning and money's scarce. You owe me sixty now and interest, besides two years' rent." "I do--I do, my dear sir; but really, my dear Barclay, I intend to repay you every guinea." "He's going to lend it to you, Mr Denville," said Mrs Barclay. "It's only his way. He always tells people he hasn't any money, and that he has to get it from his friend in the City." "Be quiet, woman," said Barclay, smiling grimly. "There, I'll let you have it, Denville. Make a memorandum of it, my gal. Let's see: how much do you want? Twenty-five will do, I suppose?" "My dear friend--you'll pardon me--if you could make it fifty you would confer a lasting obligation upon me. I have great hopes, indeed." "Fifty? It's a great deal of money, Denville." "Lend him the fifty, Josiah, and don't make so much fuss about it," said the lady, opening the ledger, after drawing her chair to the table, taking a dip of ink, and writing rapidly in a round, clear hand. "Got a stamp?" "Yes," said Barclay, taking a large well-worn pocket-book from his breast, and separating one from quite a quire. "Fill it up. Two months after date, Denville?" "You'll pardon me." "What's the use of doing a neighbour a good turn," said Mrs Barclay, filling up the slip of blue paper in the most business-like manner, "and spoiling it by being so tight. `Six months--after--date--interest--at-- five--per--centum'--there." Mrs Barclay put her quill pen across her mouth, and, turning the bill stamp over, gave it a couple of vigorous rubs on the blotting-paper before handing it to her husband, who ran his eye over it quickly. "Why, you've put five per cent, _per annum_," he cried. "Here, fill up another. Five per cent." "Stuff!" said Mrs Barclay stoutly; "are you going to charge the poor man sixty per cent? I shan't fill up another. Here, you sign this, Mr Denville. Give the poor man his money, Josiah."