"You should be independent of anyone's whims, certainly. But hardly by gambling. In any case, you must know it is a fool's game waiting for dead men's shoes, Mr. Arkel. Why don't you work and make your own fortune—you have a great deal in your favour?"
"Oh, come now," interrupted Gerald, "that's pretty rough on me. I've never been brought up to work. 'Pon my soul, I shouldn't know how to go about it. Besides, why should I, when there's no absolute need?"
"For one very good reason if for no other. You must not be offended with what I'm going to say—but you're one of those men who are not fitted to be their own master. Whilst you are idle you are bound to get into mischief. Work—right-down hard work would be the salvation of you."
"Well, upon my word—I suppose you would have me grub away in some beastly office all day!"
"Well, better an honest grub than a—yes, I'll say it—than a dishonest butterfly. You know quite well what I mean."
He flushed, sat up, and faced her.
"Miss Crane, I thought you liked me!"
It was Miriam's turn to flush now, and it was a very crimson face that looked at him.
"I do like you, Mr. Arkel," she said, "otherwise I should not be speaking to you like this. I want to be able to think well of you."
"You don't think well of me then?"