“I’ve had a nasty jar,” she told him.  “People are beginning to say things, Raymond—­things that you wouldn’t like to think are being said.”

“I thought we rose superior to the rest of the world, and what it said and what it thought.”

“We do and we always have.  We’re not moral cowards either of us.  But there are some things.  You don’t want me to be insulted.  You don’t want either of us to lose the respect of people.”

“We can’t have our cake and eat it too, I suppose,” he said rather carelessly.  “Personally I don’t care a straw whether people respect me, or despise me, as long as I respect myself.  The people that matter to me respect me all right.”

“Well, the people that matter to me, don’t,” she answered with a flash of colour.  “We’ll leave you out, Raymond, since you’re satisfied; but I’m not satisfied.  It isn’t right, or fair, that I should begin to get sour looks from the women here, where I used to have smiles; and looks from the men—­hateful looks—­looks that no decent woman ought to suffer.  And my mother has heard a lot of lies and is very miserable.  So I think it’s high time we let everybody know we’re engaged.  And you must think so, too, after what I’ve told you, Ray dear.”

“Certainly,” he answered, “not a shadow of doubt about it.  And if I saw any man insult you, I should delight to thrash him on the spot—­or a dozen of them.  How the devil do people find out about one?  I thought we’d been more than clever enough to hoodwink a dead alive place like this.”

“Will you let me tell mother, to-day?  And Sally Groves, and one or two of my best friends at the Mill?  Do, Raymond—­it’s only fair to me now.”

Had she left unspoken her last sentence, he might have agreed; but it struck a wrong note on his ear.  It sounded selfish; it suggested that Sabina was concerned with herself and indifferent to the complications she had brought into his life.  For a moment he was minded to answer hastily; but he controlled himself.

“It’s natural you should feel like that; so do I, of course.  We must settle a date for letting it out.  I’ll think about it.  I’d say this minute, and you know I’m looking forward quite as much as you are to letting the world know my luck; but unfortunately you’ve just raised the question at an impossible moment, Sabina.”

“Why?  Surely nothing can make it impossible to clear my good name, Raymond?”

“I’ve got a good name, too.  At least, I imagine so.”

“Our names are one, or should be.”

“Not yet, exactly.  I wanted to spare you bothers.  I do spare you all the bothers I can; but, of course, I’ve got my own, too, like everybody else.  You see it’s rather vital to your future, which you’re naturally so keen about, Sabina, that I keep in with my brother.  You’ll admit that much.  Well, for the moment I’m having the deuce of a row with him.  You know what an exacting beggar he is.  He will have his pound of flesh, and he has no sympathy for anything on two legs but himself.  I asked him for a fortnight’s holiday.”