“And what will you do then?”
“Get some sort of a job, I suppose.”
She thought he looked fagged and jaded, though it might have been the light, and the ugliness of his dirty blue slops buttoned up to his collarless chin. After all, now she came to think of it, he must have a pretty hard life—up every morning at six or earlier, driving fifteen miles to and fro in all weathers, working hard all day, and then coming home late, generally to finish the day with cleaning and repairs.
“Gervase,” she said abruptly—“are you happy?”
“Yes, Jen—quite happy. Are you?”
“Oh, Gervase....”
He looked up at the change in her voice.
“I’ve something to tell you,” she said hurriedly—“I’m going to be married.”
“What! To Jim Parish?”
“Oh, no, not to him. That’s all over. Gervase, I want you to stand by me; that’s why I’m telling you this. I’m making a great venture. I’m marrying Ben Godfrey.”