"Oh, no. The poorhouse is contiguous and hospitable. But I've always had a puerile prejudice against pauperdom as a career."
"You know what I mean," she accused. "Haven't your people got money?"
"Enough. And they can use what they have. Why should they waste it on me?"
"But the men I know don't have to work," said the young lady.
There was nothing patronizing or superior in her tone, but the curiosity with which she regarded her companion was in itself an irritant.
"Oh, well," he said, "after you've bought an old historic house and maybe a coat of arms, I dare say you'll come to know some decent citizens by and by."
"You mustn't think I have any feeling about your working," she explained magnanimously. "Lots of nice men do. I know that. Only I don't happen to know them. Young men, I mean. Of course dad works, but that's different. I suppose Mrs. Denyse told you who dad is."
"She did. But I didn't know any more after she got through telling than before."
The slanted brows went up to a high pitch of incredulity. "Where in the world do you live?"
"Why, I've been in the West mostly for some years. My work has kept me there."