“How do you know I have money of my own?”
“Mrs. Merton told Dolly you’d got eight hundred a year. Of course, one can’t put much faith in what she says, but there’s no smoke without a fire; so I guessed you had some. You have, haven’t you?”
“Mrs. Merton never exaggerates. I have what she said I had.”
“Have you really eight hundred a year? It’ll come in handy at Fanes.”
“I hope you didn’t ask me for my money,” Angela said, with a forlorn laugh.
“I shouldn’t be such a fool.”
“Why not?”
“I’d rather be comfortable than rich, any day. I wouldn’t saddle myself with a girl I didn’t like, not if she had ten thousand a year. I can’t stand rows. I suppose if it got too bad you could arrange a separation, but I’d sooner lose the money than have the bother of that. A man should keep his private affairs out of people’s mouths.”
“I’m glad you don’t think I shall make rows,” said Angela. “But why did you want me, then?”
“Well, I don’t know.” Bernard paused and meditated. “It wasn’t because of your money, nor yet because you were pretty; I know that. I only know, when I saw you that night, I felt like the chap in Tennyson. You know; he saw the girl at home in her oldest dress, looking no end shabby, and he just said to himself: Here, by God’s rood, is the one maid for me. Well, I said the same; I made up my mind I’d have you, right away.”