Page 431 - sons-and-lovers

had not come to the point. Now he said suddenly:
‘I am twenty-four, almost.’
She had been brooding. She looked up at him suddenly
in surprise.
‘Yes. What makes you say it?’
There was something in the charged atmosphere that she
dreaded.
‘Sir Thomas More says one can marry at twenty-four.’
She laughed quaintly, saying:
‘Does it need Sir Thomas More’s sanction?’
‘No; but one ought to marry about then.’
‘Ay,’ she answered broodingly; and she waited.
‘I can’t marry you,’ he continued slowly, ‘not now, be-
cause we’ve no money, and they depend on me at home.’
She sat half-guessing what was coming.
‘But I want to marry now—-‘
‘You want to marry?’ she repeated.
‘A woman—you know what I mean.’
She was silent.
‘Now, at last, I must,’ he said.
‘Ay,’ she answered.
‘And you love me?’
She laughed bitterly.
‘Why are you ashamed of it,’ he answered. ‘You wouldn’t
be ashamed before your God, why are you before people?’
‘Nay,’ she answered deeply, ‘I am not ashamed.’
‘You are,’ he replied bitterly; ‘and it’s my fault. But you
know I can’t help being—as I am—don’t you?’
‘I know you can’t help it,’ she replied.

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