"Since when have I been a sybarite, Clara?"

"I mean you ought to think of your position."

"It's too unpleasant to think about," rejoined Lambert, throwing himself
on the couch and producing his pipe. "May I smoke?"

"Yes, and if you have any decent cigarettes I'll join you. Thanks!" She
deftly caught the silver case he threw her. "But your position?"

"Five hundred a year and no occupation, since I have been brought up to
neither trade nor profession," said Lambert leisurely. "Well?"

"You are the heir to a title and to a large property."

"Which is heavily mortgaged. As to the title"--Lambert shrugged his
shoulders--"Garvington's wife may have children."

"I don't think so. They have been married ten years and more. You are
certain to come in for everything."

"Everything consists of nothing," said the artist coolly.

"Well," drawled Miss Greeby, puffing luxuriously at her cigarette, which
was Turkish and soothing, "nothing may turn into something when these
mortgages are cleared off."

"Who is going to clear them off?"

"Sir Hubert Pine."