“Y—es,” hesitated she, not quite understanding.
“At law business all day, and at literary work the best part of the night, year in and year out—it has told upon me, Katrine.”
“But why should you do both?” asked Katrine.
“Why? Oh, because—because my pocket is a shallow pocket, and has, moreover, a hole in it.”
She laughed.
“Not getting briefs showered in upon me as one might hope my merits deserve—I know not any young barrister who does—I had to supplement my earnings in that line by something else, and I took to writing. That is up-hill work, too; but it brings in a few shillings now and again. One must pay one’s way, you know, Katrine, if possible; and with some of us it is apt to be a rather extravagant way.”
“Is it with you?” she asked, earnestly.
“It was. I squandered money too freely at first. My old uncle gave me a fair sum to set up with when my dinners were eaten and I was called; and I suppose I thought the sum would never come to an end. Ah! we buy our experience dearly.”
“Will not the old uncle give you more?”