"Well, I have a year or two before me. I'll know what enjoyment
means. And afterwards----"

"Yes; what afterwards?"

"I don't know. I may choose to come back; I may prefer to make an
end. Impossible to foresee my state of mind after living humanly for
a year or two. And what shall _you_ do if you come in for a lot of
money?"

"It's not likely to be more than a few thousands," replied
Narramore. "And the chances are I shall go on in the old way. What's
the good of a few thousands? I haven't the energy to go off and
enjoy myself in your fashion. One of these days I may think of
getting married, and marriage, you know, is devilish expensive. I
should like to have three or four thousand a year; you can't start
housekeeping on less, if you're not to be bored to death with
worries. Perhaps I may get a partnership in our house. I began life
in the brass bedstead line, and I may as well stick to brass
bedsteads to the end the demand isn't likely to fall off. Please
fill my glass again."

Hilliard, the while, had tossed off his second tumbler. He began to
talk at random.

"I shall go to London first of all. I may go abroad. Reckon a pound
a day. Three hundred and--how many days are there in a year? Three
hundred and sixty-five. That doesn't allow me two years. I want two
years of life. Half a sovereign a day, then. One can do a good deal