“What—what was it?” said the young man.
“That you would love me all the same, and marry me all the same if I were as poor as—as a church mouse? Do you know that at the time I absolutely knew that I was as poor as a church mouse?”
“And you never told me?” he said, trying to let go her hands and yet feeling attracted by her as he had never been attracted before.
“I was not allowed to,” she answered. “Mr Timmins had enjoined Brenda and me not to breathe a word of it to any one until he thought it best that the secret should be known.”
“Everybody knows it now—my father and every one,” said Michael; and his voice was very gloomy.
“But it doesn’t matter a scrap,” she answered. “You don’t think I mind? Why, you know in some ways it makes it far more exciting; and I will tell you one of the ways, Michael. It makes me so sure and certain that you love me, not for my money, but for myself. It would be perfectly awful for a girl to marry a man just because he liked her money and did not care for herself.” Michael Reid winced. “But you are not like that, darling, and if you want me—why, here—here I am. I made up my mind fully a day or two ago. It is all right; I am quite willing to be poor with you. I know we can’t be married for a little, but that doesn’t matter. I am going to work ever so hard: we’ll both work, won’t we, darling Michael? We’ll do our very best, and I know we’ll win in the end. I don’t mind being engaged at all, even if it’s for a long time.”
“Florence,” said Michael.
He dropped his hands to his sides and looked full at the girl.
“What is it?” she asked, a queer expression darkening her eyes. She stepped a little away from him.
“I must write to you, dear,” he said. “I—I will explain things by letter. You are good to me—very, very good—but I will explain things by letter.”