“Indeed I do. I haven’t felt so happy for months. For now we need never again be parted from Frithiof. It will be the best thing in the world for him to have a comfortable little home; and I shall take good care that he doesn’t work too hard. Mr. Boniface has been so good. He says that Frithiof can have some extra work to do if he likes; he can attend some of your concerts, and arrange the platform between the pieces; and this will add nicely to his salary. And then, too, when he heard that I had quite decided on accepting Mme. Lechertier’s offer, he proposed something else for us too.” “What was that?” said poor Roy, his heart sinking down like lead. “Why, he thinks that he might get us engagements to play at children’s parties or small dances. Frithiof’s violin playing is quite good enough, he says. And don’t you think it would be much better for him than poring so long over that hateful work of Herr Sivertsen’s?” Roy was obliged to assent. He saw only too clearly that to speak to her now of his love would be utterly useless—indeed, worse than useless. She would certainly refuse him, and there would be an end of the pleasant intercourse. Moreover, it would be far more difficult to help them, as they were now able to do in various small ways. “Frithiof is rather down in the depths about it,” said Sigrid. “And I do hope you will cheer him up. After all, it is very silly to think that there is degradation in any kind of honest work. If you had known what it was to live in dependence on relations for so long you would understand how happy I am to-night. I, too, shall be able to help in paying off the debts!” “Is her life also to be given up to that desperate attempt?” thought Roy despondently. And if Sigrid had not been absorbed in her own happy thoughts, his depression, and perhaps the cause of it, would have been apparent to her. But she strolled along the garden path beside him, in blissful ignorance, thinking of a busy, successful future, in which Roy Boniface played no part at all. She was his friend, she liked him heartily. But that was all. Whether their friendship could ever now deepen into love seemed doubtful. CHAPTER XXI. During the next few days Sigrid was absorbed in deep calculations. She found that, exclusive of Swanhild’s small earnings, which would be absorbed by her education and the few extras that might be needed, their actual yearly income would be about £150. Frithiof’s work for Herr Sivertsen, and whatever they might earn by evening engagements, could be laid aside toward the fund for paying off the debts, and she thought that they might perhaps manage to live on the rest. Mrs. Boniface seemed rather aghast at the notion, and said she thought it impossible.