Tavernake felt that she herself was shaken by some emotion.

Her eyes for a moment were strangely-lit; something had come into her face which he did not understand.

Then it passed.

The delightful smile, half deprecating, half appealing, once more parted her lips; the gleam of horror no longer shone in her blue eyes.
"I am always so foolish about money," she declared, "so ignorant that I never know how I stand, but really I think that I have plenty, and a hundred or two more or less for rent didn't seem to matter much." It was a point of view, this, which Tavernake utterly failed to comprehend.

He looked at her in surprise.
"I suppose," he protested, "you know how much a year you have to live on ?" She shook her head.
"It seems to vary all the time," she sighed.