“Yes.”
There was a long pause.
“And what are you going to marry on—your pound a week?”
Again the youth went pale, as if the spirit were being injured in him.
“I don’t know,” he said, looking at his uncle with his bright inhuman eyes, like a hawk’s.
Brangwen stirred in hatred.
“It needs knowing,” he said.
“I shall have the money later on,” said the nephew. “I will raise some now, and pay it back then.”
“Oh ay!—And why this desperate hurry? She’s a child of eighteen, and you’re a boy of twenty. You’re neither of you of age to do as you like yet.”
Will Brangwen ducked his head and looked at his uncle with swift, mistrustful eyes, like a caged hawk.