"Well done," he said.
They went to the top and sat down again in the old place, the little clearing, overlooking the valley. They sat for some time in silence.
"Who are you going to marry?" she asked.
He looked at her sharply. "Poor little devil," he thought, "is it possible—" Then he looked into her eyes very steadily, rather sadly. "I haven't any idea who I shall marry, yet," he said. "Probably some girl that I shall meet at home, some girl who lives in a house about the same size that my father lives in. A girl who reads and writes, and perhaps plays the piano and sings, who can look after a house and manage servants and see that everything is looked after properly. That is," he added, thoughtfully, "if I can ever make enough money to keep such a girl."
She was silent, and he thought perhaps he had been too brutal.
"I hope that she will be as beautiful and graceful as you, but one can't have everything."
"What does your father do?" she asked, and her tone was one of interested inquiry simply.
"He's a parson."
"Keeps a church?"
"Exactly, or the church keeps him."