“I shall not see you again?” asked the girl.
“I cannot say,” replied the stranger. “But you will think of me?”
“Yes,” she answered with a smile, “I can promise that.”
“And I shall always remember you,” promised the stranger, “and I wish you every joy—the joy of love, the joy of a happy marriage.”
The girl winced. “Love and marriage are not always the same thing,” she said.
“Not always,” agreed the stranger, “but in your case they will be one.”
She looked at him.
“Do you think I have not noticed?” smiled the stranger, “a gallant, handsome lad, and clever. You love him and he loves you. I could not have gone away without knowing it was well with you.”
Her gaze wandered towards the fading light.
“Ah, yes, I love him,” she answered petulantly. “Your eyes can see clearly enough, when they want to. But one does not live on love, in our world. I will tell you the man I am going to marry if you care to know.” She would not meet his eyes. She kept her gaze still fixed upon the dingy trees, the mist beyond, and spoke rapidly and vehemently: “The man who can give me all my soul’s desire—money and the things that money can buy. You think me a woman, I’m only a pig. He is moist, and breathes like a porpoise; with cunning in place of a brain, and the rest of him mere stomach. But he is good enough for me.”