"So am I. I never supposed I was proud. But I reckoned without my host!" he said with a bitter laugh. "I wish I had never come. Or rather I don't. It is worth it all to know you."
She began to question him soothingly about his projects and prospects; and hereupon, for once, Fenton bent his mettle to simulate a pathetic incapacity. He set forth that he was discouraged; the future was a blank. It was child's play, attempting to do anything without capital.
"And you have no capital?" said Nora, anxiously.
Fenton gave a poignant smile. "Why, my dear girl, I 'm a poor man!"
"How poor?"
"Poor, poor, poor. Poor as a rat."
"You don't mean that you are penniless?"
"What is the use of my telling you? You can't help me. And it would only make you unhappy."
"If you are unhappy, I want to be!"
This golden vein of sentiment might certainly be worked. Fenton took out his pocket-book, drew from it four bank-notes of five dollars each, and ranged them with a sort of mournful playfulness in a line on his knee. "That 's my fortune."
"Do you mean to say that twenty dollars is all you have in the world?"
Fenton smoothed out the creases, caressingly, in the soiled and crumpled notes. "It 's a great shame to bring you down to a poor man's secrets," he said, "Fortune has raised you above them."
Nora's heart began to beat. "Yes, it has. I have a little money, George. Some eighty dollars."
