“No,” he said shortly, “I intended telling her but I haven’t. I am perfectly satisfied in my own mind, Leslie, that we are doing her an injustice. She has been so emphatic about money. And after all, I’m not a pauper,” he said with a smile. “You’re worse than a pauper,” said Leslie earnestly; “a man with six hundred a year is the worst kind of pauper I know.” “Why?” “You’ll never bring your tastes below a couple of thousand, you’ll never raise your income above six hundred--plus your Foreign Office job, that’s only another six hundred.” “Work,” said the other. “Work!” said the other scornfully, “you don’t earn money by work. You earn money by scheming, by getting the better of the other fellow. You’re too soft-hearted to make money, my son.” “You seem to make money,” said Gilbert with a little smile. Leslie shook his head vigorously. “I’ve never made a penny in my life,” he confessed with some enjoyment. “No, I have got some very stout, unimaginative senior partners who do all the money-making. I merely take dividends at various periods of the year. But then I was in luck. What is your money, by the way?” Gilbert was in the act of tying his cravat. He looked up with a little frown. “What do you mean?” he asked. “I mean, is it in securities--does it continue after your death?” The little frown still knit the brows of the other. “No,” he said shortly, “after my death there is scarcely enough to bring in a hundred and fifty a year. I am only enjoying a life interest on this particular property.” Leslie whistled. “Well, I hope, old son, that you’re well insured.” The other man made no attempt to interrupt as Leslie, arguing with great fluency and skill on the duties and responsibilities of heads of families, delivered himself of his views on insurance and upon the uninsured. “Some Johnnies are so improvident,” he said. “I knew a man----” He stopped suddenly. He had caught a reflection of Gilbert’s face in the glass. It was haggard and drawn, it seemed the face of a man in mortal agony. Leslie sprang up. “What on earth is the matter, my dear chap?” he cried. He came to the other’s side and laid his hand on his shoulder. “Oh, it’s nothing--nothing, Leslie,” said Gilbert. He passed his hand before his eyes as though to wipe away some ugly vision. “I’m afraid I’ve been rather a careless devil. You see, I depended too much upon uncle’s money. I ought to be insured.” “That isn’t worrying you surely?” asked the other in astonishment. “It worries me a bit,” said Gilbert moodily. “One never knows, you know----” He stood looking thoughtfully at the other, his hands thrust into his pockets. “I wish to heaven this wedding had been postponed!” Leslie laughed. “It’s about time you were married,” he said. “What a jumpy ass you are.” He looked at his watch. “You’d better hurry up, or you’ll be losing this bride of yours. After all, this isn’t a day for gloom, it’s the day of days, my friend.”