Meanwhile Kingsley was busy thinking about the settling of his affairs. He had some belongings and a little money, and it was necessary that his debts should be paid.
"We will commence quite free, Nansie," he said, "then we shall know where we are, and how we stand."
"It will be best, Kingsley," said Nansie.
"We will wipe out the past, my dear," said Kingsley, "and commence with a new slate. That will cost nothing, being in a sense metaphorical."
She did not ask him if he felt regret that he had married her; she knew that he did not, but she would have been scarcely human had the thought not obtruded itself. Certainly nothing in Kingsley's manner denoted regret. He was cheerful, hopeful, confident, and, having sufficient for the present day, felt no fears for the future. That was probably because he had not had experience. His life hitherto had been pleasant and luxurious, with no troubles of money to harass him. A good education, a liberal allowance, having but to ask and receive--these easy ways were not a good education for adversity.
"There is a song I have often sung, Nansie, my dear," he said, lightly, "and the burden of it is, 'never trouble trouble till trouble troubles you.' That is the plan we will follow."
"Yes, Kingsley," said Nansie, with a bright look; "it does not mean that we should not be prepared."
"Prepared!" he exclaimed, putting his arm round her waist and kissing her. "Of course we will be prepared. Leave everything to me; and don't have any fear that I shall miss anything."
"Are you sure, dear?"
"Am I sure? Well, upon my word! There is only one thing in the world I should miss, and that is you--with a thousand apologies for calling you a thing. So long as you are with me, with your bright eyes and sweet face, and that pretty bit of ribbon about your neck--I love to see you dressed like a lady; of course that will always be--so long as we are together as we are now, it isn't possible for me to miss anything, because my bonnie Annie Laurie is all the world to me. Then, you know, there is a charm in change, a positive charm in coming down a bit. There's pheasant now, and partridge and grouse, and pâté de foie gras--why, I've run away from them for a cut of rump steak. As for champagne, which I could have swam in--really, Nansie, swam in--why, I would rather have a bottle of Bass any day. There were some of the long walks I used to take with a chum or two. Well, we walk a dozen miles and pull up at quite a common little inn, and call for bitter--in the pewter, Nansie--and bread and cheese. Was there ever anything like it? Never. The best meal I ever sat down to was nothing in comparison. I would look at my chums, and my chums would look at me, and we would all agree that we never ate and drank anything with such a relish. It was true. We'll take long walks together, Nansie, you and I, and you will say the same. I must leave you to-morrow morning, you know, my dear, for a couple of days to settle up all my old debts. There's the stable bill--I shall have to sell my horse--and the jeweller's bill."