"Oh course. Where does one hunt?" said Tinker, echoing her surprise.
"But—but—where does your horse come from? I know your father can't afford to keep horses!"
"Sometimes he can," said Tinker. "And if he has had to sell them, a dozen people will always mount us."
Lady Beauleigh paused; and then she made the last, lavish bid. "And I would allow you a hundred a year pocket-money. Why—why, you would be a little Prince!"
"A little Prince! And learn geography! No, thank you!" said Tinker, startled out of his calm. "Besides," he added carelessly, "I've made five thousand in the last year."
"Five thousand what?"
"Pounds."
"Come, come," said Lady Beauleigh, shaking her head, "you mustn't tell me lies."
"It isn't a lie! Tinker never tells lies," broke in Elsie hotly.
"Hold your tongue, you impertinent little minx!" said Lady Beauleigh sharply. "Who asked you to speak?"