"Why, what did you expect?"
Hugh could only stammer:
"I thought it would be more."
"How much more?"
Hugh sought an answer that wouldn't betray the ludicrous figure of his hopes.
"Well, enough to live on as a married man at least."
The banker's good nature was proved by the creases of his rubber smile.
"What did you think you'd be worth to us—with no backing from your father?"
The question was of the kind commonly called a poser. Hugh had not, so I understood from him, hitherto thought of his entering his kinsfolks' banking-house as primarily a matter of earning capacity. It wasn't to be like working for "any old firm." He had prefigured it as becoming a component part of a machine that turned out money of which he would get his share, that share being in proportion to the dignity of the house itself and bearing a relation to his blood connection with the dominating partners. When Cousin Andrew had repeated his question Hugh was obliged to reply:
"I wasn't thinking of that so much as of what you'd be worth to me."