"Oh, but have you got money, my dear?"
"No; but some day I suppose I shall have—by my Art. That's the way to talk about the profession nowadays. Well, I mean that I don't want your money, Cousin Alice."
"If you haven't got any money and don't want any——" John began.
"You see, we are not all built like Mr. John Haveril," she interrupted, with a sweet smile. "Art, I am told, makes one despise money. When I am furnished with my Art, I dare say I shall despise money."
"Oh, coom now, lass!" From time to time, but rarely, John Haveril became Yorkshire again. "Despise the brass?"
"Not the people who have the brass. That is an accident."
"I don't know about accidents."
"Well, you've got money; once you hadn't. You're John Haveril all the same—see? Besides, it's quite right that some people should have money. They can take stalls at theatres. If you will let me be friends with you, Mr. Haveril, and won't look so dreadfully suspicious——"
"Well, I don't care," he said. "You look as if——"