Annabel bent her blushing face over her plate, and pretended not to hear. Roland thought she was offended.
"I didn't mean make it, you know," he whispered; "I'd not like to see you do such a thing"--bringing his face back again to the general company. "But it's of little good thinking of a farm, you see, William Yorke, when there's no money to the fore."
"You don't know anything of farming," said Mr. Yorke, inwardly wondering whether this appeal to Annabel had meant anything, or was only one of Roland's thoughtless interludes of speech.
"Don't I?" said Roland; "I was on one for ever so long at Port Natal, and had to drive pigs. It is astonishing the sight of experience a fellow picks up over there, and the little he learns to live upon."
"Because he has to do it, I suppose."
"That's the secret. I am earning a pound a week now, regular pay, and make it do for all my wants. You'd not think it, would you, William Yorke?"
"Certainly not, to look at you," said William Yorke, with a smile. "Are clothes included?"
"Oh, Carrick goes bail for all that. I'm afraid he'll find the bills running up; but a fellow, if he's a gentleman, must look decent. I'm as careful as I can be, and sit in my shirtsleeves at home when it's hot."
"Lady Augusta has visions of your walking about London streets in a coat out at elbows. I think it troubles her."
Roland paused, stared, and then started up in impulsive contrition, nearly pulling off the table-cloth.