"Nonsense!" said Jerry. "He's no worse than a hundred others. You'd hate any one under these abominable circumstances!"
She shuddered, as if in confirmation of this statement.
"I'd rather do anything," she said; "anything, down to selling matches in the gutter."
"Which isn't a practical point of view," pointed out Jerry. "You would get pneumonia with the first east wind, and die."
"Well, then, I'd rather die." The girl's voice trembled with the intensity of her preference. But her brother frowned again at the words.
"Don't!" he said abruptly. "For Heaven's sake, don't be unreasonable! Can't you see that it's my greatest worry to get you provided for? You must marry. You can't live on charity."
Her cheeks flamed.
"But I can work," she began. "I can——"
He interrupted her impatiently.
"You can't. You haven't the strength, and probably not the ability either. It's no use talking this sort of rot. It's simply silly, and makes things worse for both of us. It's all very well to say you'd rather starve, but when it comes to starving, as it will—as it must—you'll think differently. Look here, old girl: if you won't marry this fellow for your own sake, do it for mine. I hate it just as much as you do. But it's bearable, at least. And—there are some things I can't bear."