She told me all about it when she came on one of those short evenings, and nibbled a little piece of cake as she sat on the edge of my chair.
He wanted to marry her at once, but he was earning only eighteen shillings a week and, as far as I could see, spent most of that on neckties, socks and hair oil. He would no doubt begin to save it directly they were married; but eighteen shillings was not enough to keep them both.
“He’d better wait, then,” said I.
“He’s so afraid he’d lose me,” she whispered.
“And would he?” I asked.
She picked up a crumb from the floor, seeming thereby to suggest that it was not in the nature of her to waste anything.
“Then I suppose you’ll be married in secret and go on just the same?”
She nodded her head.
“Where does he propose you should be married?”