"You have twenty thousand a year."
"Nineteen, not a dollar more, and that is genteel poverty and there's nothing genteel in poverty now."
Verelst tugged at his moustache. "Tell me this. Is she to marry him?"
In affected surprise, she started. "How you do jump at conclusions."
Angrily he nodded. "I appear to have jumped at the correct one."
But his anger had gained her. She faced him. "Heavens and earth! What have you against him? What have you all against him? My eyes are as good as any one's. I can't see it."
"You might feel it then."
"Feel what?"
Verelst tugged again at his moustache. He had never heard of elementals and, if he had heard, he would not have believed in them. He knew nothing of auræ—which photography has captured. He was very old fogy. But he knew an honest man when he saw one and a gentleman before he opened his mouth.
"Feel what?" Mrs. Austen repeated.