"You are laughing at me," he exclaimed, shamed.
"Who am I to laugh at the wonderful Buzzy Van Pycke, prince of the dandies in—"
"Please don't." He clenched his hands and set his jaw, leaning forward to gaze into the bed of coals. She studied his averted face.
"You have a strong face," she said at last, voicing her thoughts.
"Thanks," he muttered.
"You don't know how to work. Is that it, Mr. Van Pycke?" she asked.
"Oh, I fancy I could earn a living," he said, without looking up.
"And then you could save the twelve thousand intact," she observed. He looked up curiously. "In ten years you would have at least one hundred and twenty-five thousand. You could buy a yacht with that much money. Just think what fun it would be to spend it all in an hour."
"It may interest you to know that I am going to work," he said, conscious of a burning sensation in his face.
"Are you in earnest?"