I
"He hasn't proposed, then?"
"No; he hasn't." A pause; then, reluctantly: "I haven't given him the
opportunity."
"Violet! Do you want to starve?"
The speaker turned in his chair, and looked at the girl bending over the
fire, with a quick, impatient frown on his handsome face. They were
twins, these two, the only representatives of a family that had been
wealthy three generations before them, but whose resources had dwindled
steadily under the management of three successive spendthrifts, and had
finally disappeared altogether in a desperate speculation which had
promised to restore everything.
"You don't seem to realise," the young man said, "that we are absolutely
penniless--destitute. Everything is sunk in this Winhalla Railway
scheme, up to the last penny. It seemed a gorgeous chance at the time.
It ought to have brought in thousands. It would have done, too, if it
had been properly supported. But it's no good talking about that. It's
just a gigantic failure, or, if it ever does succeed, it will come too
late to help us. Just our infernal luck! And now the question is, what
is going to be done? You'll have to marry that fellow, Violet. It's
absolutely the only thing for you to do. And I--I suppose I must
emigrate."
The girl did not turn her head. There was something tense about her
attitude.
"I could emigrate too, Jerry," she said, in a low voice.
"You!" Her brother turned more fully round. "You!" he said again. "Are
you mad, I wonder?"
She made a slight gesture of protest.
"Why shouldn't I?" she said. "At least, we should be together."
He uttered a grim laugh, and rose.
"Look here, Violet," he said, and took her lightly by the shoulders.
"Don't be a little fool! You know as well as I do that you weren't made
to rough it. The suggestion is so absurd that it isn't worth discussion.
You'll have to marry Kenyon. It's as plain as daylight; and I only wish
my perplexities were as easily solved. Come! He isn't such a bad sort;
and, anyhow, he's better than starvation."
The girl stood up slowly and faced him. Her eyes were wild, like the
eyes of a hunted creature.
"I hate him, Jerry! I hate him!" she declared vehemently.
"Nonsense!" said Jerry. "He's no worse than a hundred others. You'd hate
any one under these abominable circumstances!"
She shuddered, as if in confirmation of this statement.
"I'd rather do anything," she said; "anything, down to selling matches
in the gutter."
"Which isn't a practical point of view," pointed out Jerry. "You would
get pneumonia with the first east wind, and die."
"Well, then, I'd rather die." The girl's voice trembled with the
intensity of her preference. But her brother frowned again at the words.
"Don't!" he said abruptly. "For Heaven's sake, don't be unreasonable!
Can't you see that it's my greatest worry to get you provided for? You
must marry. You can't live on charity."
Her cheeks flamed.
"But I can work," she began. "I can----"
He interrupted her impatiently.
"You can't. You haven't the strength, and probably not the ability
either. It's no use talking this sort of rot. It's simply silly, and
makes things worse for both of us. It's all very well to say you'd
rather starve, but when it comes to starving, as it will--as it
must--you'll think differently. Look here, old girl: if you won't marry
this fellow for your own sake, do it for mine. I hate it just as much as
you do. But it's bearable, at least. And--there are some things I can't
bear."
He stopped. She was clinging to him closely, beseechingly; but he stood
firm and unyielding, his young face set in hard lines.
"Will you do it?" he said, as she did not speak.
"Jerry!" she said imploringly.
He stiffened to meet the appeal he dreaded. But it did not come. Her
eyes were raised to his, and she seemed to read there the futility of
argument. She remained absolutely still for some seconds, then abruptly
she turned from him and burst into tears.
"Don't! don't!" he said.
He stepped close to her, as she leaned upon the mantelpiece, all the
hardness gone from his face. Had she known it, the battle at that moment
might have been hers; for he would have insisted no longer. He was on
the brink of abandoning the conflict. But her anguish of weeping
possessed her to the exclusion of everything else.
"Oh, Jerry, go away!" she sobbed passionately. "You're a perfect beast,
and I'm another! But I'll do it, I'll do it--for your sake, as I would
do anything in the world, though it's quite true that I'd rather
starve!"
And Jerry, rather pale, but otherwise complete master of himself, patted
her shoulder with a hasty assumption of kindly approval; and told her
that he had always known she was a brick.