“Poor boy! What are we idyllic lovers to do?”
“I don’t believe you’re a bit in earnest.”
“Yes, I am, Jack—now.” Then she went on, with a sort of playful pity, “Look at my savage, jealous, broken-hearted Jack.”
I caught her in my arms and kissed her, whispering hotly:
“You will be true to me, sweet?”
“Let me go,” she said. Then, leaning over me as I flung myself back in a chair, “It’s pleasant while it lasts; try not to be broken-hearted if it doesn’t last.”
“If you love me, why don’t you come with me out of this sink of iniquity?”
“Run away with you?” she asked, with open amazement. “Do you think that we’re the sort of people, for a romantic elopement? I am very earthy. And so are you, Jack, dear—nice earth, but earth, Jack.”
There was a good deal of truth in this remark. We were not an ideal pair for love in a cottage.
“Yes,” I said. “I’ve got no money.”