"You must!"
"Daren't you risk it now?"
She drew herself back a little.
"Lucas, that isn't fair. I dare do anything—except come to you without a penny, and probably ruin you. If I had even twenty pounds a year to bring you, I'd risk it; but you know quite well that if I marry against Andrew's wishes any time within seven years I forfeit everything."
"If I killed Andrew," asked the painter grimly, "who would his money go to?"
"Wait!" she said, her spirit smiling through her eyes. "Don't you trust father to help us somehow—some time or other?"
He twisted his mustache desperately upwards.
"I want to help myself."
She smiled openly now.
"You can't be trusted yet; you're so greedy!"