Olivia said nothing, but she could not restrain an almost imperceptible lifting of the brows.
"The result of that speech has been," continued Pembroke, after a little pause, "that I am in public life to stay as long as I can. That means that I shall never be a rich man. Honest men, in these times, don't get rich on politics."
A brilliant blush came into Olivia's face at that. In the midst of suggestive circumstances Pembroke seemed determined to add suggestive remarks.
"But I hardly think you could take that into consideration," she answered, after a moment. "A man's destiny is generally fixed by his talents. You will probably not make a great fortune, but you may make a great reputation—and to my way of thinking the great reputation is the more to be coveted."
"Did you always think so?"
"Always."
Then there came an awkward pause. Olivia was angry with him for asking the first question, but Pembroke seemed determined to pursue it.
"Even when I asked you to marry me on this very spot, six years ago? Then I understood that you could not marry a poor man."
"Then," said Olivia, calmly, and facing him, "you very much misunderstood me. I did think, as I think now, that poverty is a weight about the neck of a public man. But I can say truthfully, that it was your ability to cope with it, rather than mine, that I feared."
