“I think,” said Sybil, quietly, “that we ought to tell my uncle at once. He is the only relation I have in the world.”
“Oh yes, of course,” said Ronald, holding her hand. “That is, you know, I think we might tell him after lunch. Because I suppose it would not be the right thing for me to stay all day after he knows. Would it?”
“Why not?” asked Sybil. “He must know it soon, and you will come to-morrow.”
“To-morrow, and the next day, and the day after that, and always,” said Ronald, lovingly. “But he will not like it, I suppose.”
“Why not?” asked Sybil, again.
“Because I am poor,” said Ronald, quietly. “You know I am not rich at all, Sybil dearest. We shall have to be very economical, and live on the place in Scotland. But it is a very pretty place,” he added, reassuringly.
Sybil flushed a little. He did not know, then, that she had a fortune of her own. It was a new pleasure. She did not say anything for a moment.
“Do you mind very much, dearest?” asked Ronald, doubtfully. “Do you think it would bore you dreadfully to live in the country?”
Sybil hesitated before she answered. She hardly knew whether to tell him or not, but at last she decided it would be better.
“No, Ronald,” said she, smiling a little; “I like the country. But, you know, we can live anywhere we please. I am rich, Ronald–you did not know it?”