A moment later, however, and the feeling passed, crushed under the logic of his reason. It was, of course, inevitable⁠—so he said to himself⁠—that Gerda, young girl though she was, should want a hearth of her own.

“No,” he answered, emphatically enough. “We must live by ourselves.”

“Father won’t give us anything,” said Gerda.

“That’s all right,” he chuckled, laughing surlily but not maliciously. “I’ve no desire to be supported out of tomb-making! No, no, sweetheart; what we’ve got to find is some tiny shanty of our own, almost as small as our cowshed, where neither your mother nor my mother can interfere with us.”

“Do you think Mrs. Solent will be very angry?” she enquired.