"Twenty-four thousand pounds," said Masterman, and blew a cloud of smoke. "Lord! Doesn't it worry you?"
"It is a bit worrying at times.… Things 'appen."
"Going to marry?"
"Yes."
"H'm. Lady, I guess, of a superior social position?"
"Rather," said Kipps. "Cousin to the Earl of Beauprés."
Masterman readjusted his long body with an air of having accumulated all the facts he needed. He snuggled his shoulder-blades down into the chair and raised his angular knees. "I doubt," he said, flicking cigarette ash into the atmosphere, "if any great gain or loss of money does—as things are at present—make more than the slightest difference in one's happiness. It ought to—if money was what it ought to be, the token for given service; one ought to get an increase in power and happiness for every pound one got. But the plain fact is the times are out of joint, and money—money, like everything else, is a deception and a disappointment."
He turned his face to Kipps and enforced his next words with the index finger of his lean, lank hand. "If I thought otherwise," he said, "I should exert myself to get some. But, if one sees things clearly, one is so discouraged. So confoundedly discouraged.… When you first got your money, you thought
