“Peter, I wish you would tell me things straight out—now’s better than never. And honestly I can’t understand why you’re not going to marry me.”
He was a little shocked. Tradition taught him that Stella would try to save her face, and he had half expected her to say that she had never thought of marrying him. After all, he had never definitely asked her, and she might claim that this was only one of those passionate friendships which had become so common during the war. If she had done so, he would have conceded her the consolation without argument—a girl ought to try and save her face; but Stella apparently did not care about her face at all.
“Why aren’t you going to marry me? You’ve never given me any real reason.”
“Surely you know”—his voice was a little cold.
“How can I know? I see you the heir of a huge estate, living in a big house with apparently lots of money. You tell me again and again that you love me—I’m your equal in birth and education. Why on earth should I ‘know’ that you can’t marry me?”
“Stella, we’re in an awful mess—all the family. The estate is mortgaged almost up to the last acre—we can hardly manage to pay the yearly interest, and owing to the slump in land we can’t sell.”
Stella stared at him woodenly.
“Can’t you understand?”
“No—” she said slowly—“I can’t. I’ve heard that the war has hit you—it’s hit all the big landowners; but you’re—good heavens! you’re not poor. Think of the servants you keep, and the motor-cars——”
“Oh, that’s my hopeless parents, who won’t give up anything they’ve been accustomed to, and who say that it’s not worth while making ourselves uncomfortable in small things when only something colossal can save us. If we moved into the Lodge tomorrow and lived on five hundred a year it would still take us more than a lifetime to scrape up enough to free the land.”