“Do you,” Anthony stretched out alternative fingers, “do you get money from him to make payments in gold, or, do you get it in paper?”
She stared as in terror of a pit-fall. “Paper,” she said at a venture.
“Well, then, name your Bank.”
There was no cunning in her eye as she answered: “I don't know any bank, except the Bank of England.”
“Why the deuce didn't you say so at once—eh?” cried Anthony. “He gives you bank-notes. Nothing better in the world. And he a'n't been givin' you many lately—is that it? What's his profession, or business?”
“He is...he is no profession.”
“Then, what is he? Is he a gentleman?”
“Yes,” she breathed plaintively.
“Your husband's a gentleman. Eh?—and lost his money?”
“Yes.”