This was grievous to the ladies at Littlebath. Very little had been said about money between George and Miss Baker up to this time; nothing had been said between George and Caroline; but the two ladies knew that there could be no marriage till there was an adequate income. The income of the gentleman when stripped of his fellowship would be two hundred pounds a year; that of the lady was about the same. Now Caroline Waddington had no intention whatever of marrying on four hundred pounds a year; and it must be more than three years at the very least before all this profound study would result in golden fees.
Now that the matter was so far settled—settled as Bertram considered it—he did tell Harcourt of his love. "Harcourt," said he, one day. "I have a piece of news which perhaps I ought to tell you. I am engaged to be married."
"Are you?" said Harcourt, rather too coolly to satisfy his friend's expectation.
"I am not joking."
"Who ever accused you of joking since you took to the law and Mr. Die? I did not give you credit for a joke; not even for so bad a one as that would be. Shall I congratulate or condole with you?"
"Either or neither. Perhaps you had better wait till you see the lady."
"And when is it to be?"
"Well; in this coming summer, I suppose. That is my wish, at least."
"And your wish of course will be law. I presume then that I may be justified in surmising that the lady has some considerable fortune?"
"No, indeed, she has not. Something she has got; about as much, perhaps, as myself. We shall have bread to eat."