And he blessed the illumination that had come to him, blessed also the blackness and misery into which, incontinently, he had fallen. He submitted to exhaustion and was content to await an accretion of energy.
Thereafter, for a little while, he found himself more akin to Mr. Copas, drank with him, cracked jokes with him, walked with him and listened to his talk. He began to appreciate Mrs. Copas and to understand that being beaten by a man is not incompatible with a genuine affection and sympathy for him. He speculated not at all, and more than ever his instruction of Matilda became dependent upon her caprice.
Her uncle now gave her a salary of five shillings a week and upon her first payment she went out and bought a cigar for her mentor. She gave three half-pence for it and he smoked it and she wore the band on her little finger. To guard against such presents in the future he bought himself a box of fifty Manilas.
Mrs. Copas began to sound him as to his resources. Losing patience with his evasions she asked him at last bluntly if he were rich. He turned his cigar round his tongue and said:
“It depends what you mean by rich.”
“Well,” she replied cautiously, feeling her ground, “could you lay your hands on fifty pounds without selling anything?”
“Certainly I could, or a hundred.”
“A hundred pounds!”
Her eyes and mouth made three round O’s and she was silenced.