‘And what?  Is she still angry with me for not being rich?’

And his thoughts went back to his first interview with Bridget Cookson—­on the day when their engagement was announced.  He could see the tall sharp-featured woman now, standing with her back to the light in the little sitting-room of the Manchester lodgings.  She had not been fierce or abusive at all.  She had accepted it quietly—­with only a few bitter sentences.

’All right, Mr. Sarratt.  I have nothing to say.  Nelly must please herself.  But you’ve done her an injury!  There are plenty of rich men that would have married her.  You’re very poor—­and so are we.’

When the words were spoken, Nelly had just accepted him; she was her own mistress; he had not therefore taken her sister’s disapproval much to heart.  Still the words had rankled.

‘Darling!—­when I made you marry me—­did I do you an injury?’ he said suddenly, as they were walking again hand in hand along the high green path with the lake at their feet, and a vision of blue and rose before them, in the shadowed western mountains, the lower grounds steeped in fiery light, and the red reflections in the still water.

‘What do you mean?’ said Nelly, turning upon him a face of wonder.

’Well, that was what Bridget said to me, when I told her that you had accepted me.  But I was a great fool to tell you, darling!  I’m sorry I did.  It was only—­’

‘"Injury,"’ repeated Nelly, not listening to him.  ’Oh, yes, of course that was money.  Bridget says it’s all nonsense talking about honour, or love, or that kind of thing.  Everything is really money.  It was money that began this war.  The Germans wanted our trade and our money—­and we were determined they shouldn’t have them—­and that’s all there is in it.  With money you can have everything you want and a jolly life—­and without money you can have nothing,—­and are just nobody.  When that rich old horror wanted to marry me last year in Manchester, Bridget thought me perfectly mad to refuse him.  She didn’t speak to me for a week.  Of course he would have provided for her too.’

Sarratt had flushed hotly; but he spoke good-naturedly.

’Well, that was a miss for her—­I quite see that.  But after all we can help her a bit.  We shall always feel that we must look after her.  And why shouldn’t she herself marry?’

Nelly laughed.

‘Never!  She hates men.’

There was a silence a moment.  And then Sarratt said, rather gravely—­’I say, darling, if she’s going to make you miserable while I am away, hadn’t we better make some other arrangement?  I thought of course she would be good to you, and look after you!  Naturally any sister would, that was worth her salt!’

And he looked down indignantly on the little figure beside him.  But it roused Nelly’s mirth that he should put it in that way.

‘George,—­you are such a darling!—­and—­and, such a goose!’ She rubbed her cheek against his arm as though to take the edge off the epithet.  ’The idea of Bridget’s wanting to “look after” me!  She’ll want to manage me of course—­and I’d much better let her do it.  I don’t mind!’ And the speaker gave a long, sudden sigh.