"These appearances of wealth, as you call it, are delusive," the Tenor answered. "I just happened to have money enough to furnish my house when I came here; but I am a very poor man now. I have little or nothing, in fact, but my salary for singing in the choir."
"Oh," said the Boy. "And you might be so rich with your voice."
The Tenor brushed his hand back over his hair.
"Are you lazy?" the Boy demanded.
"No." he answered, smiling again. The Boy kept him smiling perpetually.
"What is it, then? Why don't you work?"
"Well, I do work," the Tenor answered him.
"I mean, why don't you make money?"
"Oh—because I have no one to make it for."
"If you had"—and the Boy leant forward eagerly—"would you? Would you work for a lady who loved you if she gave herself to you?"