“I suppose,” said Lionel, after a pause, “that you, sir, will refuse your sanction?”
“Apart from sentimental considerations, I ask you, Lionel, as I should ask any other man, how do you propose to support a wife if your father cuts off your allowance?”
This talk took place in Hamlin’s study, lined with books cheaply bound and constantly read, so different in every aspect from the Squire’s library. The Parson had sat down at his desk. Joyce sat near him. Lionel remained standing.
“I am not afraid of poverty,” the young man declared stoutly.
“Nor I,” murmured Joyce.
“But I am,” said the Parson, trenchantly. “It’s a bed of nettles.”
Lionel spent some time and eloquence in describing what “other fellows” had done in India. With a little “pull” one could get excellent billets, managerships of tea and rubber plantations, married men preferred. The Parson raised a cynical pair of eyebrows.
“Have you any qualifications, special knowledge of tea or rubber?”
“He could learn,” pleaded Joyce.
“At another man’s expense?”