"Thank you very much, Captain Vane," she said at last, "for your offer. I hope you won't think me ungrateful when I refuse. Four years ago I think I should have accepted it with gratitude; but now . . ." She shook her head "A lot of the shams have gone; we see clearer--some of us. . . . And I tell you that I would not willingly condemn Jack to such a life as his father led--even if I was penniless. Wait--let me finish"--as Vane started to speak--"Of course with you he would have better chances than his father had before him--but the city life would kill him--even as it has killed thousands of others. . . . I wonder if you can realise the hideous tragedy of the poor clerk. He can't strike for higher wages, like the British working man. He just goes on and on and suffers in silence. . . . In Jack's case it would be the same. . . . What--four hundred a year?" She laughed a little scornfully. "It's not much to bring up a family on, Captain Vane. . . . Four hundred a year, and Acacia Avenue--two streets up. . . . Acacia Avenue doesn't call on Culman Terrace, you know. . . ." Again she laughed. "No, Jack isn't made for that sort of life, thank God. He aches for the big spaces in his boyish way, for the lands where there are big things to be done. . . . And I've encouraged him. There'll be nobody there to sneer if his clothes get frayed and he can't buy any more--because of the children's boots. There'll be no appearances to keep up there. And I'd a thousand times rather that Jack should stand--or fall--in such surroundings, than that he should sink slowly . . . here."