"Trouble?" repeated Barnabas.
"Money-troubles, my dear Bev, pecuniary unpleasantnesses, debts, and duns, and devilish things of that kind."
"But surely," said Barnabas, "no man—no honorable man would marry and burden a woman with debts of his own contracting?"
At this, the Viscount looked at Barnabas, somewhat askance, and fell to scratching his chin. "Of course," he continued, somewhat hurriedly, "I shall have all the money I need—more than I shall need some day."
"You mean," inquired Barnabas, "when your father dies?"
Here the Viscount's smooth brow clouded suddenly.
"Sir," said he, "we will not mention that contingency. My father is a great Roman, I'll admit, but, 'twixt you and me,—I—I'm devilish fond of him, and, strangely enough, I prefer to have him Romanly alive and my purse empty—than to possess his money and have him dea—Oh damn it! let's talk of something else,—Carnaby for instance."
"Yes," nodded Barnabas, "your friend, Carnaby."
"Well, then, in the first place, I think I hinted to you that I owe him five thousand pounds?"
"Five thousand! indeed, no, it was only one, when you mentioned it to me last."