“What should I mean, except in a money point of view?”
Ellison was under obligation to the young man for money loaned. Moreover, at the time of borrowing the money, he had given out the idea that, after his marriage, he would no longer be troubled with the disease of empty pockets. All this was remembered at the moment, and, while it occasioned a feeling of extreme mortification, was in the way of his resenting the rude familiarity.
“You shall have your money to-morrow,” said the artist, lifting his eyes from the floor where they had fallen, and looking steadily at his young friend.
“If it’s any inconvenience,” remarked the latter, who felt the rebuke of Ellison’s manner, “it’s of no consequence just now. I am not pressed for money.”
“It will be none at all. I will bring it round to you in the morning.”
“I hope you’re not offended. I didn’t mean to wound your feelings,” said the friend, looking concerned. He felt that he had been indelicate in his allusions, and saw that Ellison was hurt.
“Oh no. Not in the least,” replied the latter.
“I hope you won’t put yourself to any inconvenience about the matter.”
“No; it will be perfectly convenient.”
Then followed a silence that was oppressive to both. A forced and distantly polite conversation followed, after which the visiter went away. As he closed the door of Ellison’s studio, the young artist clasped his hands together, while a distressed expression came into his face.