Guy was very modest now. “Because she told me so.”
“M’m!” said Wallace. The old gentleman’s mouth grew tight again. Then he said, with a sly glance at Guy: “How much money have you got?”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” Guy explained, helplessly, his face turning scarlet.
“What’s your income? Are you prepared to support a wife?”
“I—I expect to be—in time.”
Wallace smiled, smoothing his thick, white hair. “Well, Fanny was never much of a hand to wait for anything, I can tell you that. How much money do you make?”
Guy shifted his position. “Well, not much at present. In fact, it is hardly worth speaking of.”
“Any prospects?” Wallace persisted, mercilessly.
“I don’t exactly know,” Guy replied, feeling that things were going very badly.
“You don’t know whether you have any prospects or not?” Wallace exclaimed.