“That wasn’t what made it ridiculous. The ridiculous part was that we could have got married perfectly well if only I hadn’t been Jenny Alard of Conster Manor and he Jim Parish of Cock Marling Place.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he’s got over seven hundred a year. Most young couples would look upon that as riches, but it’s poverty to us—partly because he has to pay away half of it in interest on mortgages, and partly because we’ve got such an absurd standard of living that we couldn’t exist on anything less than two or three thousand.”
“Well, I hope you’d never be such a fool as to marry on seven hundred.”
“That’s just it—I’m refusing to marry on seven hundred. But I’ll tell you, Peter—I’d do it like a shot for a man who didn’t look upon it as a form of suicide. If ever I meet a man who thinks it enough for him, I promise you it’ll be enough for me.”
“That’s all very well, Jenny. But Parish must think of Cock Marling.”
“He is thinking of it. It’s Cock Marling that’s separated us just as Conster separated you and Stella.”
Peter was annoyed.
“You’ve no right to say that. What makes you think I wanted to marry Stella? It’s not fair to Vera to suggest such a thing.”
“I’m sorry, Peter. I oughtn’t to have said it. But I did once think.... But anyhow, I’m glad you didn’t.”