“Cool enough to speak. And of course when you said that if only this and that had happened, you would have asked me to marry you, it was exactly the same as asking me to do it now.”
“Was it?” His tone was blissful. Then a cloud swept over him. “Poverty—can you face it?”
Lady Fanny shook her head dolefully. He stepped back.
“No? But I am poor. No, of course not. I have been very wrong.”
She put her hand shyly on his arm.
“Dear, we shan’t be poor, unless—” Her smile returned. “What do you call poverty?”
“I suppose we ought to have some hundreds a year?” he said, with gloom.
“Oh, more.”
“More? Then indeed I have done wrongly. My income will not reach four.”
Her tone mimicked his.