"Well, if they are not of independent means, it would seem to suggest that—" and here Étienne colored slightly again, "forgive me, but must I—" and he balked until both Eliza and Pontchartrain had made encouraging faces at him, "well, pay them—" he half-swallowed the dreadful word—"I don’t know, so that they could— buy —food and whatnot, presuming that’s how they get it? For I don’t phant’sy they would have their own farms, living as they do in cities."