"Mr. Tim Waite is a friend of the people I've been stopping with," she said. "He's rich and all that. I believe he might find——"
"Thank you for nothing, Cora. I'm hardly likely to trouble him, am I?"
"Not much use talking like that."
"I'll take patronage, if I must, because beggars can't be choosers; but I'll not take it from my inferiors."
"'Inferiors'! That's a funny word for you to use. How is Timothy Waite your inferior? I don't see it."
"Don't you?" he answered, getting red. "Then you ought to see it. Damn it all, Cora, you're so cold-blooded where I'm concerned. And yet you're supposed to love me and want to marry me."
"I'm not a fool, and if 'tis cold-blooded to have a bit of common-sense, then I'm cold-blooded. Though I'm a bit tired of hearing you fling the word in my face. Timothy Waite always was as good a man as you; and why not?"
"I should call him a mean, money-grubbing sort of chap myself—close-fisted too. He's not a sportsman, anyway. You can't deny that."
"Not much good being generous, if you've got nought to be generous with. And mean he is not. He lent money to your uncle, and never pushed the claim half as hard as many smaller men. I know him a long sight better than you do. And, if you've got any sense left, you'll go to him and ask him if he can help you to find a job. I'm only thinking of you—not myself. I can go into a hat shop any day; but you—you can't do anything. What are you good for? For that matter you don't seem to be able to get a chance to show what you are good for. All your swell hunting friends are worth just what I said they were worth. Now you're down on your luck, they look t'other way."
He began to grow angry.