“I can get more—I can earn more, I have thought it out. I have been thinking of it these two days. I have been thinking what we could do. I have money.”
“You have money?”
“Nearly a hundred pounds.”
“But we are so young—And my mother ...”
“We won’t ask her. We will ask no one. This is our affair. Ethel! this is our affair. It is not a question of ways and means—even before this—I have thought ... Dear one!—don’t you love me?”
She did not grasp his emotional quality. She looked at him with puzzled eyes—still practical—making the suggestion arithmetical.
“I could typewrite if I had a machine. I have heard—”
“It’s not a question of ways and means. Now. Ethel—I have longed—”
He stopped. She looked at his face, at his eyes now eager and eloquent with the things that never shaped themselves into words.
“Dare you come with me?” he whispered.