"Yes. A girl like you getting over it. That's happened before now," retorted the downright little Man-hater. "Now, what about this Land Army idea?"
"But—but I should hate every minute of it!" I objected.
"Worse than marrying the wrong person?" murmured Elizabeth.
Here an odd thing happened. At those words "the wrong person" there flashed into my mind for the first time the thought that has visited it, ah! how often since then, in spite of Harry, in spite of my not caring what happened now. In spite of everything, it struck me, "If I never hear anything more about this Mr. Wynn, it will be a pity." Yes, at the time I felt that.
"What a toss-up everything is," I said recklessly. "Shall I go to work in breeches and a smock? Or shall I get married? Heads or tails? Have you a penny, Elizabeth?"
"Don't be silly."
"I mean it. Have you a penny?"
"Put my last into the gas meter!"
"Then I'll try this." I took up the remaining dry biscuit from the bread platter. "England must be fed," I quoted. "Heads I go and help to feed her. Tails I marry for a job. Heads is the side with the maker's name on. Now!"
I spun the biscuit into the air. Gambling with England's food!