"Well, who's going to keep her if we don't?"
"Oh, I say!" exclaimed Vivian, "do you mean to tell me we shall be as poor as all that?"
"I don't know. I hope we shan't. I'm sure I don't want to live at home either now; but it's likely enough, isn't it?"
Vivian pondered.
"There's her jewellery," he said at last; "that's worth a lump, you know. As to your not living at home either, one of us will have to, it's certain! She can't be left by herself; it wouldn't be right."
"I don't think that my going would trouble her; she has never wanted me. If she does, of course I'll stop. The thing is, I don't know what sort of berth I can expect to get. I'm afraid it won't be very easy for—for a fellow like me to get anything to do, will it?" He tried to force a laugh. "I've never been in demand so far."
"No, there is that," said Vivian. "She was talking about it yesterday."
"What did she say?"
"Only that. It won't be so easy as if you were—you know! You ought to have sung, Dave, then you'd have been all right. Fancy, if you'd had the governor's voice; by Jove, there would have been none of this bother at all! Of course, if you can write, it'll be better than nothing." He hesitated, and looked a little sheepish, for such confidences were new between them. "You want to go in for being an author, don't you?"
David nodded. "I've sent verses to magazines already; only, they weren't taken."