"Lady Ellis is to pay me a hundred pounds if she stays the year; if not, ten pounds per month. Now you see if I get four at that rate, permanent inmates," went on Mrs. Chester, rapidly, "it will bring my income up to six hundred pounds, which will be comfortable, and enable one to live."
"I suppose it will."
"You suppose it will!" snapped Mrs. Chester, who was resenting his indifferent demeanour. "It is as much as you and Clara possess. You live well."
"We have none too much. We spend it--all."
"And more imprudent of you to spend it all! as I have often thought of telling you, Robert Hunter. I wonder you can reconcile yourself to live up to the last penny of your income, and do nothing to increase it. How will it be when children come?"
"Ah, that's a question," said he, giving the fish-basket a twirl.
"You may have a large family yet; you are both young. What sort of a figure would your six hundred a year cut when everything had to come out of it? A dozen children to keep at home, and find in clothes, and doctors, and sundries, and a dozen children to provide for at school, would make your money look foolish."
"Let's see," cried he, gravely; "twelve at home and twelve at school would make twenty-four. Could you not have added twelve more while you were about it, and said thirty-six?"
"Don't be stupid! You know I meant twelve in all. They may come, for all you can tell; and they'll require both home expenses and school expenses, as you will find. It is a sin and a shame, Robert, for a young capable man like you, to live an idle life."
"I tell myself so every other morning, Penelope."