"Who draws it? the thrall or the baron?"
The question opened up a new view of the matter, and Brockway took time to think about it.
"I'm not sure as to that," he said, doubtfully. "I've always taken it for granted it was the baron; but perhaps it's both of them."
"You may be very sure there are two sides to that shield, as to all others," she asserted. "But tell me more about your own trouble. Is it altogether impossible? Does the—the young woman think as you do?"
"It is; and I don't know what she thinks. I've never asked her, you know."
"You haven't? And still you sit here on this log and eat cold chicken and tell me calmly that it's hopeless! I said awhile ago that you were very daring, but I'll retract in deference to that."
"It's not exactly a lack of courage," Brockway objected, moved to defend himself when he would much rather have done something else. "There is another obstacle, and it is insurmountable. She is rich—rich in her own right, I'm told; and I am a poor man."
"How poor?"
"Pitifully so, from her point of view. So poor that if I gave her a five-room cottage and one servant, I could do no more."
"Many a woman has been happy with less."