"No, she's my ward."
"Is she rich?"
"Well, sir, she's comfortable; she's worth about fifty thousand pounds sterling. Now I don't call that rich; I only call it comfortable."
"An' what do yez call rich?" asked the chief, in a tender voice, full of affectionate interest.
"Well, a couple of hundred thousand pounds or so. You see, when I was worth fifty thousand I thought I was somebody, but I soon learned how paltry an amount that is. No, sir; two hundred thousand pounds are necessary to make a rich man, and not a penny less, sir—not a penny, sir."
"Thim's me own sintimints intirely," said the chief; "that shuits me, so it does. I saw by the cut av yez that ye must be a millionnaire at laste—so I did."
"A millionnaire!" said Russell, with affected modesty. "Well, you know, in England that's a big word; but I suppose here in Spain, or anywhere on the Continent, I might be called one."
"I suppose," said the chief, after a pause, "that ye've got an ixtinsive acquaintince wid the nobility an' gintry an' all thira fellers?"
"Yes," said Russell, "I have; and not in England only, but throughout the Continent. Not that I think much of the Continental nobility. Between you and me, I think they're a beggarly lot."
"Thrue for you," said the chief. "Thim's me own sintimints."