On returning to the passage I found Vivian walking to and fro; he had lighted his cigar, and was smoking energetically.
"So this great heiress," said he smiling, "who, as far as I could see—under her hood—seems no less fair than rich, is the daughter, I presume, of the Mr Trevanion whose effusions you so kindly submit to me. He is very rich, then? You never said so, yet I ought to have known it: but you see I know nothing of your beau monde—not even that Miss Trevanion is one of the greatest heiresses in England."
"Yes, Mr Trevanion is rich," said I, repressing a sigh—"very rich."
"And you are his secretary! My dear friend, you may well offer me patience, for a large stock of yours will, I hope, be superfluous to you."
"I don't understand you."
"Yet you heard that young gentleman as well as myself; and you are in the same house as the heiress."
"Vivian!"
"Well, what have I said so monstrous?"
"Pooh! since you refer to that young gentleman,—you heard, too, what his companion told him,—'one ought to be an earl, at least, to aspire to Fanny Trevanion!'"
"Tut! as well say that one ought to be a millionnaire to aspire to a million!—yet I believe those who make millions generally begin with pence."