re. I'm staying for your brother's sake
and--other people's; it's no pleasure to me, by Jove! I'd go to-morrow
if I had my way--but I aint a fool," continued the sulky defendant:
"it's of no use asking me such questions. By Jove, I've other things to
think of than girls; and you know pretty well how much money I've got,"
he continued, taking out an old purse and emptying out the few shillings
it contained into his hand. When he had thrown them about, out and in,
for nearly a minute, he turned once more upon the Curate. "I'd like to
have a little more pocket-money before I ran away with any one," said
Wodehouse, and tossed the shillings back contemptuously. As for Mr
Wentworth, his reasonableness once more came greatly in his way. He
began to ask himself whether this penniless vagabond, who seemed to have
no dash or daring in his character, could have been the man to carry
little Rosa away; and, perplexed by this idea, Mr Wentworth put himself
unawares into the position of his opponent, and in that character made
an appeal to his imaginary generosity and truth.

"Wodehouse," he said, seriously, "look here. I am likely to be much
annoyed about this, and perhaps injured. I entreat you to tell me, if
you know, where the girl is. I've been at some little trouble for you;
be frank with me for once," said the Curate of St Roque's. Nothing in
existence could have prevented himself from responding to such an
appeal, and he made it with a kind of absurd confidence that there
must be some kindred depths even in the meaner nature with which he
had to deal, which would have been to Jack Wentworth, had he seen it,
a source of inextinguishable laughter. Even Wodehouse was taken by
surprise. He did not understand Mr Wentworth, but a certain vague idea
that the Curate was addressing him as if he still were "a gentleman as
he used to be"--though it did not alter his resolution in any
way--brought a vague flush of shame to his unaccustomed cheek.

"I aint a fool," he repeated rather hastily, and turned away not to meet
the Curate's eyes. "I've got no money--how should _I_ know anything
about her? If I had, do you think I should have been here?" he
continued, with a sidelong look of inquiry: then he paused and put on
his coat, and in that garb felt himself more of a match for his
opponent. "I'll tell you one thing you'll thank me for," he said,--"the
old man is dying, they think. They'll be sending for you presently.
That's more important