'Well, of course it's better,' said Fenwick, ungraciously; 'I don't say you haven't got a head, Phoebe—why, I know you have! You did first-rate! But, after all, I had to earn the money.'
She looked up eagerly.
'That's what I say. You'd never be able to think about little things—you'd have to be painting always—and going about—and—'
He bit his lip.
'Why, I could manage for myself—for a bit,' he said, with a laugh. 'I'm not such an idiot as all that. Old Morrison's lent me a hundred pounds, Phoebe!'
He enjoyed her amazement.
'A hundred pounds!' she repeated, faintly. 'And however are we going to repay all that?'
He drew her back to him triumphantly.
'Why, you silly child, I'm going to earn it, of course—and a deal more. Don't you hinder me, Phoebe! and I shall be a rich man before we can look round, and you'll be a lady—with a big house—and your carriage, perhaps!'
He kissed her vehemently, as though to coerce her into agreeing with him.