"Fortune has spared her that necessity," said John. "I haven't asked her, and I never shall. I haven't any money."
"Pooh! Is that all?" scoffed her ladyship, relieved. "You have prospects."
"Remote ones—the remoter the better. I won't count on dead men's shoes," said John.
"What is it your little fortune-teller at the Castle calls you?" asked Lady Blanchemain, shrewdly, her dark old eyebrows up.
"She calls me lucus a non lucendo," was John's quick riposte; and the lady laughed.
But in a moment she pulled a straight face. "I seriously counsel you to have more faith," she said. "Go home and ask her to marry you; and if she accepts,—you'll see. Money will come. Besides, your rank and your prospective rank are assets which you err in not adding to the balance. Go home, and propose to her."
"'Twould do no good," said John, dejectedly. "She regards me with imperturbable indifference. I've made the fieriest avowals to her, and she's never turned a hair."
Lady Blanchemain looked bewildered. "You've made avowals—?" she falteringly echoed.
"I should rather think so," John affirmed. "Indirect ones, of course, and I hope inoffensive, but fiery as live coals. In the third person, you know. I've given her two and two; she has, you may be sure, enough skill in mathematics to put 'em together."
"And she never turned a hair?" the lady marvelled.