"I don't see how I am ever to marry now," he said hoarsely. "I can't count on the two hundred a year from the agency and this cottage. Even that may go to-morrow. It wasn't much. It wasn't enough to set up house on, but even that is as good as gone."
"I have thought lately that you had it in your mind to marry."
A small tear suddenly jumped out of Roger's eye, and got held up in his rough cheek.
"I want to marry Annette," he said.
"Yes, my dear, I guessed it."
"Dreadfully. You don't know, Janey. Dreadfully."
"I know, my poor boy," she said,—"I know all about it." And she came and stood by him and patted his hand.
For a moment Roger sobbed violently and silently against her shoulder.
Then he drew himself away, and rummaged for his pocket-handkerchief.
"You are a brick, Janey," he said gruffly.