"Dead broke," came the very cheerful reply.
"But of course Moya has some money," said Lady Farquhar quietly.
The Westerner winced. "Wish she hadn't. It's the only thing I have to forgive her."
Farquhar lifted his eyebrows. "Di," he remonstrated.
His wife came to time with a frank apology. "That was downright nasty of me, Mr. Kilmeny. I withdraw it. None the less, I think Moya would be throwing herself away. Do you realize what you are proposing? She's been used to the best ever since she was born. Have you the means to supply her needs? Or are you considering a Phyllida and Corydon idyll in a cottage?"
"It will have to be something of that sort at first. I've told her all this too, Lady Farquhar."
"What does that matter if we love each other?" Moya asked.
"You'll find it matters a good deal," said Lady Jim dryly. "When poverty comes in love is likely to wink out any day. Of course I realize that yours is of a quality quite unusual. It always is, my dear. Every lover has thought that since time began."
"We'll have to take our fighting chance of that," Jack replied.
Moya, her eyes shining, nodded agreement. No great gain can be won without risk. She knew there was a chance that she might not find happiness in her love. But where it called her she must follow—to a larger life certainly, to joy and to sorrow, to the fuller experiences that must come to every woman who fulfills her destiny.