“I can be a shocking bounder at times,” Aynesworth murmured.
“He must be more a sort of an upper servant,” Wingrave continued. “I should require him to obey me implicitly, whatever I told him to do. You have a conscience, I presume?”
“Very little,” Aynesworth answered. “I have been a journalist.”
“You have the remnants of one, at all events,” Wingrave said, “quite sufficient, no doubt, to interfere with your possible usefulness to me. I must have someone who is poor—too poor to question my will, or to dispute my orders, whatever they might be.”
“I have never,” Aynesworth declared, “possessed a superfluous half-crown in my life.”
“You probably possess what is called a sense of honor,” Wingrave continued. “You would certainly disapprove of some of my proceedings, and you would probably disobey my orders.”
“Sense of honor!” Aynesworth repeated. “You have too flattering an opinion of me. I don’t know what it is. I always cheat at cards if I get the chance.”
Wingrave turned away.
“You are a fool,” he said, “and you won’t suit me.”
“When can I come?” Aynesworth asked.