Mr. Roget listened to these sentiments absently, his eyes focused on the dining room door. I kept my back to it, as I knew exactly what he was about to discover and I felt a great curiosity to see his face when he experienced what I imagined would be a series of hard shocks to the foundations of his scheme. We listened to the patter of bare feet as the wild creature charged across the dining room. Then with what amusement I heard the gleeful bark with which Walter is wont to greet new faces! His hand brushed against my skirt as he hurried past me to clutch the knees of the astounded Mr. Roget. I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. “It was too bad of Sarah not to tell you about Walter,” I said solemnly. “I expect she feared you might be disappointed in some way.” Walter was working up to a scream as he attempted to divest Mr. Roget of his walking stick. “You can’t have it,” Mr. Roget said. “You might hurt yourself with it.”
“He can’t hear you,” I pointed out helpfully. “He is deaf. He has been examined by a physician, and I’m afraid there is no hope that he will ever be normal.”
Walter gave up the stick and held out his arms to be picked up. When Mr. Roget did not respond, he turned to me, stretching his arms up and mewing. He persists in this behavior, though I never touch him if I can avoid it. He was wearing only a slip made from sacking, his face was smeared with what looked like dried egg yolk, his hands and feet were filthy, and his hair was a mass of knots. I looked back to see Rose watching from the far door. “Come take him,” I said, and she came in quickly. As soon as he saw her, the boy ran to her arms. He was carried back to the courtyard, simpering and patting Rose’s cheek. “He is much improved since our move here,” I observed to Mr. Roget as I resumed my seat. My guest raised his hand and commenced rubbing the corner of his eye with his finger, evidently thunderstruck. “But the truth is,” I continued, “as you can see, he will never be worth anything to anyone.”
“No,” he agreed. He left off rubbing his eye and gave me a look of frank ill will mixed with grudging admiration, such as one gives a worthy opponent. This gratified me, but his lips betrayed the faintest trace of a smile, an habitual insolence, I thought, which made me want to slap him.
“Perhaps you wish to reconsider your offer,” I suggested.
“No,” he said. “But as you say yourself, this boy has no value. If I were to agree to take him, I would not offer more.”
“Well, I am curious to hear the figure you have in mind.”
“Two thousand dollars,” he said coolly.
It was twice what Sarah was worth. I allowed the notion of making such a profit and getting rid of Walter in the bargain to tempt me for a moment. I’ve no doubt I gave Mr. Roget the same adversarial scrutiny he had just given me. “It is a generous offer,” I said. “You must be very determined to have her.”
“I am,” he said.
What possessed the man? He had already gone to the expense of financing Sarah’s escape. He was probably paying someone to hide her as we sat there. If I agreed, he would have to pay to bring her back, then take on two children not his own, one ugly and dark, the other no better than a mad yellow dog. Then he would have to go through the long, expensive process of manumission, applying bribes all round, as the laws are strict. He leaned back in his chair, bringing his stick to the side and stretching his legs out before him, nonchalantly examining his trouser leg. He found a bit of plaster stuck to the seam and flicked it away with his fingernail. It fell onto the carpet near his shoe. I focused my eyes and my mind upon this small fleck of white plaster. The fact of it enraged me, but I counseled myself to remain calm. Mr. Roget was waiting for my answer, having no idea that a bit of plaster had sealed his fate and Sarah’s as well.
“I fear you are improvident,” I said. “And that you will regret your offer.”
“That will be my lookout,” he said. “My offer is firm. I am prepared to write you a check for half the amount today.”
“Let me propose a counteroffer,” I said. “I think it might prove a more practical solution for us all.”
He glanced at the mantel clock, reminding me that he was a busy man.
“I have no intention of selling Sarah,” I said. “It’s that simple. She is not for sale. However, I would have no objection to a marriage between you. I think that is your object, is it not? She would continue to live here during the week, but she could come to you on Sundays and she would be free to visit one or two evenings a week when I am dining out.”