'Well, the rich and cruel seem to thrive best, for a time at least,' said Mary, a little infected by his mood.
'But to go away so far—so far as London?' he urged, with an air of bewilderment.
'The further the better now, Robert.'
'But the idea of making your own livelihood in that awful human wilderness, you and Ellinor, seems so strange—so perilous and unnatural.'
'Why so—don't thousands work?'
'And starve and die of broken hearts!'
'Robert, you are not encouraging.'
'I would that I could be so.'
'We must make the attempt as others do and have done. We are well-nigh penniless now; without Birkwoodbrae and its accessories we could not live alone on the pittance poor papa left us, and here we could not add a penny to it. I don't think I am fit for much, Robert,' continued Mary, sadly and humbly, with tears in her soft, sweet eyes. 'No one will give me a high-class situation, my education has been so very simple, and beyond a little music'—her voice broke fairly now—'and Ellinor's pencil, she is very clever, you know——'
'I wish I could see this infernally grasping cousin of yours!' surmised Robert, angrily and reflectively.