Her back stiffened again. "Lucas! you promised to be sensible." He smiled down at her. "I have the sense to marry you--and do it at once, too!" She jumped up. "Lucas!" "Jean!" He held her fast. "You may be strong enough to hold me," she panted, "but you aren't strong enough to marry me against my will!" "But why shouldn't we? Why the mischief, why the dickens, why the devil not?" "Because you'd be bankrupt in a month. You've _no_ sense, dear. Do get that into your head. By your own admission you have only just begun to sell your pictures. Wait and see whether it lasts--wait for a couple of years--" "A couple of--! I won't, and that's flat!" "One year, then." "Twelve months? I can't, Jean." "You must!" "Daren't you risk it now?" She drew herself back a little. "Lucas, that isn't fair. I dare do _anything_--except come to you without a penny, and probably ruin you. If I had even twenty pounds a year to bring you, I'd risk it; but you know quite well that if I marry against Andrew's wishes any time within seven years I forfeit everything." "If I killed Andrew," asked the painter grimly, "who would his money go to?" "Wait!" she said, her spirit smiling through her eyes. "Don't you trust father to help us somehow--some time or other?" He twisted his mustache desperately upwards. "I want to help myself." She smiled openly now. "You can't be trusted yet; you're so greedy!" He laughed, but a little wryly. "It's because I'm starving." "Then work, work!" said Jean. "I can't work harder," he answered more philosophically. "I can only sell faster." "And you're doing that too," she said encouragingly. They needed all the encouragement they could snatch, these two perverse and desperate lovers. People who lack the sense to provide themselves with an income after falling in love generally do. At the end of an hour, one of those galloping hours that fly swifter than ten ordinary minutes, they passed out into the lane again. The mist was now so thick that even when the way grew straight they could see no more than two lamps ahead, and it was very chill and damp. "I'll hail a cab as soon as I see one." "I won't drive in it, I warn you." He implored, but she shook her fair head resolutely. "One of us must be practical," she persisted. "And the other in love?" She pressed his hand, but remained the charming incarnation of obstinacy. He laughed at last, though a little anxiously as he saw a fringe of tiny drops gather on her hair; and he let her have her way. Together they entered a bus and slowly rumbled eastwards. The bus was full, and for a long time they sat in silence. "It's quite fine here!" she exclaimed at last; "we've come out of the mist--look at the stars!" They both cheered up amazingly. It actually seemed as if they were preposterous enough to take this ordinary meteorological incident as an omen. CHAPTER IV "We'll have to ask the Rivingtons," said Andrew. "And not the Donaldsons?" inquired his wife.