"Yes, very soon." She hesitated momentarily, then went on rapidly, as if it were a relief to tell someone. "My father's life was insured. It has left my stepmother enough to live on; but, of course, not here. The place is mortgaged up to the hilt. I have nothing at all. I have got to make my own living."
"You?" said Jeff.
She smiled again faintly, "Yes, I. What is there in that? Lots of women work for their living."
"You are not going to work for yours," he said.
She thrust the chair from her with a quick little movement of the hands. "I would begin to-morrow—if I only knew how. But I don't—yet. I've got to look about me for a little. I am going first to a cousin at Kensington."
"Who doesn't want you," said Jeff.
She looked at him in sharp surprise. "Who—who told you that?"
"You did," he said doggedly. "At least, you told Mr. Chesyl—in my presence."
"Ah, I remember!" She uttered a tremulous little laugh. "That was the day I caught you eavesdropping and ordered you off your own ground."
"It was," said Jeff. "I heard several things that day, and I guessed—other things." He paused, still looking straight at her. "Miss Elliot," he said, "wouldn't it be easier for you to marry than to work for your living?"