"If there wasn't money there would be its equivalent in some form or other.

Are you in debt again, Loftie ?" "How can I help it?
I can't live on my pittance." "But mother gives you three hundred a year." "Yes--such a lot! You girls think that a fine sum, I suppose! That's all you know.

Three hundred! It's a pittance.

No fellow has a right to go into the army with such small private means." "But, Loftie, you would not accept Uncle Roderick Macleod's offer.

He wrote so often, and said he could help you if you joined him in India." "Yes, I knew what that meant.