al
side? Did you imagine that the girl's relations would support you? And
would you yourself endure to be their pensioner, their butt, the scorn
of the very domestics, for a poor son-in-law is the standing jest of the
very flunkeys--you ought to know that!"

Szilard's face burned like fire at these words, but the old man hastened
to soothe him.

"No, you could never reconcile yourself to that, I am sure. But you
thought, perhaps, that the girl might descend to your level and share
your poverty. There are in the world many a poor lad and lass who endow
one another with nothing but their ardent love and yet make happy
couples enough. So, no doubt, you argued, and herein lies the fallacy
that has deceived you. If you had been enamoured of a poor girl, I
should have said: it is rather early to think of marriage, but if it be
God's will, take her! Work and fight your way through the world where
there is room enough for every one. The lass, too, is used to
deprivation, and you are also. She will be content with little. She can
sew, she will do your cooking for you, and, if need be, your washing
likewise! She can make one penny go as far as two. When there is a lot
to do she will sing to make the work lighter, and when your supper is
slender, her good humour and her loving embraces will make it more. But
my dear boy! how are you going to make a poor housewife out of a girl
who has been rich? How can she ever feel at home in a wretched,
out-of-the-way shanty, where she will not even have you always by her
side, for you will have to be looking after your daily bread? She will
say nothing, she will make no complaint, but you will perceive that she
misses something. She will not ask you for a new dress, but you will see
that the one she wears is shabby and it would break your heart to
reflect that you have fettered the girl you love to your step-motherly
destiny, and your manly pride would one day blush for the recklessness
which led you to drag her down with you."

"My dear guardian," said Szilard, "to prove to you that I did think of
all these things let me tell you that I have put by from my salary and
commissions enough to enable us to live comfortably for at least a
twelvemonth. For a whole year I have lived on two pence a day in order
to save, and during all that time I am sure you have not heard from me
one word of complaint."

Mr. Sipos was horrified. It was an even worse case than he had imagined.
What! to live for a