‘As good as ours? The “sub.” of a paltry rag like Chit-Chat, and assistant to a literary agency!’
‘He makes considerably more money than we do.’
‘Money! What’s money?’
Dora was again mirthful.
‘Oh, of course money is nothing! We write for honour and glory. Don’t forget to insist on that when you reprove Mr Whelpdale; no doubt it will impress him.’
Late in the evening of that day, when the brother and sister had strolled by moonlight up to the windmill which occupies the highest point of Sark, and as they stood looking upon the pale expanse of sea, dotted with the gleam of light-houses near and far, Dora broke the silence to say quietly:
‘I may as well tell you that Mr Whelpdale wants to know if I will marry him.’
‘The deuce he does!’ cried Jasper, with a start. ‘If I didn’t half suspect something of that kind! What astounding impudence!’
‘You seriously think so?’
‘Well, don’t you? You hardly know him, to begin with. And then—oh, confound it!’