No, we'll stay here--we'll stay here!' She began to pluck at the grass with her hand, staring before her at the moonlit stream like one who sees visions of the future.

The beauty of her faintly visible head and neck suddenly worked on John Fenwick's senses.

He threw his arm round her.
'And I shall soon be back.

You little silly, can't you understand that I shall always be wanting you ?' 'We'll stay here,' she repeated, slowly.

'And you'll be in London making smart friends--and dining with rich folk--and having ladies to sit to you--' 'Phoebe, you're not jealous of me ?' he cried, with a great, good-humoured laugh--'that would be the last straw.' 'Yes, I am jealous of you!' she said, with low-voiced passion; 'and you know very well that I've had some cause to be.' He was silent.