“Yes, I know he is going,” said Crispin coolly; “he is coming with me.”
“Coming with you?” repeated Mrs. Dengelton, indignantly, wondering at the presumption of this, as she thought, poor poet.
“Yes,” replied Crispin equably, as he prepared to startle the lady; “he is going to the East in my yacht.”
“Your yacht!” gasped Mrs. Dengelton, in the same tones in which she would have said, “Your throne!” “I did not know you—you”—
“Were rich enough to possess one,” said Crispin dryly, seeing the lady hesitated. “Oh, I have had a yacht for many years. I hope you and Miss Dengelton will do me the favor of coming a cruise in her some day.”
“Oh, I should be delighted!” cried Mrs. Dengelton, with a shudder, for she was a very bad sailor; “but does it not take a great deal of money to keep up such an expensive luxury?”
“A great deal,” assented the poet, suppressing a smile as he saw the dexterous way in which Mrs. Dengelton was trying to find out the extent of his income; “but, fortunately, I can afford it.”
“How lucky you are!” sighed the lady, now adopting a more polite tone towards this wealthy young man. “Ah, it is a splendid thing to be rich. My late husband was of good birth, but poor, and he did not leave me very well off. However, I have a sufficiently good income to live comfortably, and of course my dear daughter for a companion.”
“What will you do when Miss Dengelton marries?”
“Oh, I will live with her still. You see, young wives are inexperienced, and I could take all that sort of thing on my shoulders.”