“But you have no money?”
“Are you so sure of that?” said Ralph, smiling as he rattled the coins in his pocket cheerfully.
The girl’s face brightened. “You have enough for both of us?”
“I am going to stay in Scotland. I shall keep enough to get along with, you needn’t be anxious.”
But this was quite too much for Ivy, she hid her face and burst into tears.
“I can’t go alone,” she sobbed. “I won’t take your money, and leave you behind in this horrid place. Oh, please, please let us stay together.”
For a minute he wavered—the sight of her tears was almost more than he could endure; the sunshine streaming in through the uncurtained window turned her brown hair to gold, and revealed in a way that half-dazzled him the wonderful grace of every line of her figure. With an effort, he turned away, and began doggedly to pace the room till he recovered himself, and, with that instinct for straightforward dealing which always characterised him, frankly answered her suggestion.
“That would never do: you will see if you think for a minute. You are no longer a child, and people would say horrible things about you.”
“But you always say we are not to trouble about slanders. You don’t like conventional people, and yet here you would have me made miserable, for fear unkind tongues should talk.”
“We can’t throw aside all conventions,” said Ralph; “many of them are good and useful in their way. Are you and I so superhuman that we can afford to do without all safeguards? I know you think me hard-hearted, but some day you’ll thank me for persuading you to go with Miss Kay.”