No—I—I thought it was only heiresses who were wards in Chancery.
THEODORE TRAVERS.
Well, you'd call her an heiress, I suppose. She'll be worth about two thousand a year. (A pause.)
TED MORRIS.
(With a slight laugh, and by a great effort, speaking in natural easy tones.) I—I thought she was a poor little penniless orphan—dependent on Aunt Bella.
THEODORE TRAVERS.
No; she doesn't suggest the heiress a bit, does she? Just as well she doesn't, perhaps. One doesn't have to be keeping such a continual look out for the fortune-hunting crew. She'll want to see me about that letter, I expect. I shall be down on the Putting Green. (Goes out.)
TED MORRIS.
(Bitterly.) Yes, I was dreaming. This is the awakening. An heiress with two thousand a year, and I with hardly a second coat to my back! A smart pair they'd have said we were—Nelly and I. Damn the money!
(Enter Primrose.)