nowadays. Well, and what's to be done?'

Marian had no answer for such a question. The tone of it was a new stab
to her heart, which had suffered so many during the past half-year.

'Now, I'll ask you frankly,' Jasper went on, 'and I know you will reply
in the same spirit: would it be wise for us to marry on this money?'

'On this money?'

She looked into his face with painful earnestness.

'You mean,' he said, 'that it can't be spared for that purpose?'

What she really meant was uncertain even to herself. She had wished to
hear how Jasper would receive the news, and thereby to direct her own
course. Had he welcomed it as offering a possibility of their marriage,
that would have gladdened her, though it would then have been necessary
to show him all the difficulties by which she was beset; for some time
they had not spoken of her father's position, and Jasper seemed willing
to forget all about that complication of their troubles. But marriage
did not occur to him, and he was evidently quite prepared to hear that
she could no longer regard this money as her own to be freely disposed
of. This was on one side a relief but on the other it confirmed her
fears. She would rather have heard him plead with her to neglect her
parents for the sake of being his wife. Love excuses everything, and his
selfishness would have been easily lost sight of in the assurance that
he still desired her.

'You say,' she replied, with bent head, 'that it would bring us fifty
pounds a year. If another fifty were added to that, my father and mother
would be supported in case the worst comes. I might earn fifty pounds.'

'You wish me to understand, Marian, that I mustn't expect that you will
bring me anything when we are married.'

His tone was that of acquiescence; not by any means of displeasure. He
spoke as if desirous of saying for her something she found a difficulty
in saying for herself.

'Jasper, it is so hard for me! So hard for me! How could I help
remembering what you told me when I promised to be your wife?'

'I spoke the truth rather brutally,' he replied, in a kind voice. 'Let
all that be unsaid, forgotten. We are in quite a different position now.
Be open with me, Marian; surely you can trust my common sense and good
feeling. Put aside all thought of things I have said, and don't be
restrained by any fear lest you should seem to me unwomanly--you can't
be that. What is your own wish? What do you really wish to do, now that