'What did you do?'
'I lived by my wits. Chevalier d'industrie.'
'Ah, non. Je ne crois pas.'
'You don't believe my wits were sufficient to the task? I was like the London hospitals—practically unendowed; only they wouldn't support me by voluntary contributions. So—I wrote for the newspapers, I'm afraid.'
'For the newspapers?'
'Oh, I admit, it's scandalous. But you may as well know the worst. A penny-a-liner! But I shan't do so any more, now that I have stepped into the shoes of my uncle. You'll never catch me fatiguing myself with work, now that I've got enough to live on!'
'Lazy!'
'Oh, I'm everything that's reprehensible.'
'And you never married?'
'I don't think so.'