He said deliberately, "I possess an income of five hundred a year, extraneous, and in addition to my pay as major in Her Majesty's service."
Then he paused, and the silence was like a growing chasm between them.
She broke it by saying, "Have you any expectations?"
This was crueller still, though no longer astonishing. He complained in his heart merely that her voice had become so unpleasant.
With emotionless precision, he replied, "At my mother's death—"
She interposed a soft exclamation.
"At my mother's death there will come to me by reversion, five or six thousand pounds. When my father dies, he may possibly bequeath his property to me. On that I cannot count."
Veritable tears were in her eyes. Was she affecting to weep sympathetically in view of these remote contingencies?
"You will not pretend that you know me now, Percy," she said, trying to smile; and she had recovered the natural feminine key of her voice. "I am mercenary, you see; not a mercenary friend. So, keep me as a friend— say you will be my friend."
"Nay, you had a right to know," he protested.