“Oh, I was, was I? Well, if I was above you, 349 where did you think that other ridiculous little simp belonged, I should like to know? Not with me, I hope?”
“But you see, Leslie–––” somehow the great question that had loomed between them these weeks dwarfed and shrivelled when he tried to explain it to Leslie–––
“Well–––?”
“Well, I’ve just found out you are very rich–––”
“Well?”
“Well, I’m poor.”
“But I thought you just said you loved me!” flashed Leslie indignantly. “If you do, I don’t see what rich and poor matter. It’ll all belong to us both, won’t it?”
“I should hope not,” said the young man, drawing himself up as much as was consistent with life in a canoe. “I would never let my wife support me.”
“Well, perhaps you might be able to make enough to support yourself,” twinkled Leslie with mischief in a dimple near her mouth.
“Leslie, now you’re making fun! I mean this!”