"I'll carry that," said George. "No! It's all right. I'm used to it. You might bring me the tablecloth. But you won't drop the crumbs out of it, will you?" He followed her with the bunched-up tablecloth down the dangerous basement steps into the kitchen. She passed straight into the little scullery, where the tray with its contents was habitually left for the attention of Mrs. Lobley the next morning. When she turned again, he halted her, as it were, at the entrance from the scullery with a question. "Shall you be all right?" "With Agg?" "Yes." "How do you mean--'all right'?" "Well, for money, and so on." "Oh yes!" She spoke lightly and surely, with a faint confident smile. "I was thinking as they'd cut down your prices----" "I shall have heaps. Agg and I--why, we can live splendidly for next to nothing. You'll see." He was rebuffed. He felt jealous of both Agg and Prince, but especially of Prince. It still seemed outrageous to him that Prince should have been taken into her confidence. Prince had known of the affair before himself. He was more than jealous; he had a greater grievance. Marguerite appeared to have forgotten all about love, all about the mighty event of their betrothal. She appeared to have put it away, as casually as she had put away the tray. Yet ought not the event to count supreme over everything else--over no matter what? He was desolate and unhappy. "Did you tell Agg?" he asked. "What about?" "Our being engaged--and so on." She started towards him. "Dearest!" she protested, not in the least irritated or querulous, but kindly, affectionately. "Without asking you first? Didn't we agree we wouldn't say anything to anybody? But we shall have to think about telling Agg." He met her and suddenly seized her. They kissed, and she shut her eyes. He was ecstatically happy. "Oh!" she murmured in his embrace. "I'm so glad I've got you."