"Pray, Mr Lorton," she replied, ignoring my query, "what means have you for supporting a wife? People cannot live upon nothing, you know; and `love in a cottage' is an exploded fallacy." She spoke as lightly and pleasantly as if she were conversing upon some ordinary society topic with another lady of the world like herself. She very well knew what she was about, however. She was "developing her main attack"--as military strategists would say! You see, I had never given the subject of ways and means an instant's consideration, having remitted the matter to Providence with that implicit trust and cheerful hopefulness to which most enraptured swains are prone. I had only thought of loving Min and being loved by her:-- engagement naturally following between us; and, that, was all I had thought of as yet. When the time came for us to be married, our guardian angels would, no doubt, take care to provide us with the wherewithal! "Sufficient for the day" was "the evil thereof." Till then, I was quite satisfied to let the matter rest; living, for the present, in the fairy land of my imagination where such a thing as filthy lucre was undreamt of. Mrs Clyde's inquiry, therefore, took me all aback. "What means had I for supporting a wife?" Really, it was a very uncalled-for remark! I had to answer it, nevertheless. Of course I could only tell the truth. "I've only got two hundred and fifty pounds a-year of my own at present, Mrs Clyde," I said; "but--" "Two--hundred--a-year!"--she said, interrupting me ere I could finish my statement, placing a horribly sneering emphasis on each word, which made the sum mentioned appear so paltry and insignificant, that it struck me with shame.--"I beg your pardon--two hundred and fifty! Why, how _young_ you are, Mr Lorton. Do you really think you could support a wife and establishment on that income? I thought you were joking, my dear young friend,"--she added--"you know it would barely pay your tailor's bill!" And she looked at me from head to foot with her merciless quizzing eyes, taking in all the elaborateness of the apparel that I had donned for her personal subjugation. "You have not heard me out, Mrs Clyde," I answered, spurred upon my mettle.--"I am not quite dependent on that income. I also write for the press!" I said this quite grandly, on the strength of my contributing an occasional magazine article at stray intervals to one of the current periodicals--getting one accepted for every dozen that were "declined with thanks;" and, being the "musical critic" of a very weakly weekly! "O-oh, indeed!" she exclaimed. There was a most aggravating tone of pity mingled with her surprise. She evidently now looked upon me as more presumptuous than ever, and hopelessly beyond the pale of her social circle!