"I must."
"After—after last night, on deck? And—and now—what you've just said?"
"I can't help it, dear," he said miserably. "I've been talking with your father."
"Is it—is it our money?"
"Yes."
"Are you a coward?" she flashed. "Afraid of what people would say?"
"Afraid of what you yourself would feel when you found yourself missing the things you've been used to so long."
"What do I care for those things? It's just a sort of snobbery in you. Oh, I'd have married you when I thought your name was Daddleskink!" she cried, with flaming face. "And now because we're different from what you thought, you—you—"
"You're not making it very easy for me, dear," he said piteously.
There came into her face, like an inspiration, a radiance of the tenderest fun. She put her hands one on each of his shoulders, and with a little soft catch in her voice, sang:—