"God forbid." Lister removed her arms, and grew even paler than he was. "The kindest way I can act towards you, Bella, is to go out of your life, and never see you again."
"Cyril, how can you when I love you so?"
"Would you love me if you knew of my troubles?"
"Try me. Try me," she implored, clasping his hand warmly.
"There are some things which can't be told to a woman," he said sternly.
"Tell them to a comrade, then. I wish to be your comrade as well as your wife. And I love you so that anything you say will only make me love you the more. Tell me, Cyril, so that I can prove my love."
"Upon my soul, I believe you'd go to hell with me," said Lister strongly.
"Yes, I would. I demand, by the love which exists between us, to be told this secret that troubles you so greatly."
Lister frowned, and meditated. "I cannot tell you everything—yet," he remarked, after a painful pause, "but I can tell you this much, that unless I have one thousand pounds within a week, I can never marry you."
"One thousand pounds. But for what purpose?"