Iris came nearer. Timidly she laid a hand upon his shoulder; appealingly she gazed into his face.
"Dear"--it was a just audible whisper--"you are so clever--you are so far above ordinary men--"
Lashmar smiled. His arm fell lightly about her waist. "We have still nearly two hundred pounds a year," the whisper continued. "There's Len--but I must take him from school--"
"Pooh! We'll talk about that."
A cry of gratitude escaped her.
"Dyce! How good you are! How bravely you hear it, my own dear husband.
I'll do anything, anything! We needn't have a servant. I'll work--I don't care anything if you still love me. Say you still love me!"
He kissed her hair.
"It's certain I don't hate you.--Well, we'll see how things look to-morrow. Who knows? It may be the real beginning of my career!"