I'm sure I could." "And the duke will pay you seven or eight pounds a week for six weeks--so that it will mean thirty-five or forty pounds," said the Honourable John Ruffin with the same business briskness.
Pollyooly smiled another heavenly smile, but the duke sprang to his feet with harried air and cried fiercely: "Oh, hang it all! Draw it mild, Ruffin! Seven or eight pounds a week for a child like that! Oh, hang it! It's too stiff!" "Not a bit of it!" said the Honourable John Ruffin with cold business incisiveness.

"Pollyooly has the monopoly of the likeness of Marion, and she must be paid a monopoly price.

Besides, this business has been costing you over a thousand a year; surely you can't kick at seven or eight pounds a week for six weeks, or so, to stop it for good and all.
Why, as a monopoly price, seven or eight pounds a week isn't enough.
We must make it ten--or, say, a hundred for the whole job." "No, no; seven pounds a week!" cried the duke hastily.
The Honourable John Ruffin looked at him with an air of considerable disapproval, almost contemptuous, and said coldly: "Well, you can't expect me to haggle--seven let it be." He would have been very well content to get five pounds a week for Pollyooly; and she would have been overjoyed to get it.

But he did not think it wise to show any pleasure at getting seven.
But during this discussion of terms Pollyooly's face had fallen; and its brightness was dimmed.

Somewhat plaintively she said: "But please, your Grace.