"I think you're a little tinder-box," he said, smiling ruefully.
"Don't you see how it is with me, Jack? I've always craved life. I've wanted to take hold of it with both hands and without gloves. But they would never let me. I've got my chance now ... if you really love me more than you do your pride and your money. I want to live close to the people—as you do."
"What did that suit cost you?" he asked abruptly.
"Don't remember. Twenty-five pounds, maybe. Why?"
"One hundred twenty dollars, say. And you need dozens of dresses in a season. I'll make a guess that it takes five thousand a year to clothe you. That is nearly twice as much as I'll earn altogether next year if I throw away my stake."
She waved his argument aside. "Stupid boy! I have dresses enough to last me for five years—if you'll let me be that poor man's wife. I can make them over myself later and still be the best dressed woman in camp."
From above came Captain Kilmeny's shout. "We telephoned down. The engineer has the trouble arranged."
The cable began to move.
"When shall I see you alone again, Moya?" Jack demanded.
"I don't know."