"In fact, you're quite rich compared to me.

You've got a house, and you've got work, which brings you in enough to live upon,--now I haven't a roof to call my own, and my stock of money is rapidly coming to an end.

I've nothing to depend upon but my book,--and if I can't sell that when it's finished, where am I?
I'm nothing but a beggar--less well off than I was as a wee boy when I herded cattle.

And I'm not going to marry you----" She stopped in her walk and looked at him with a smile.
"Oh Angus! I thought you were!" He kissed the hand he held.
"Don't make fun of me, Mary! I won't allow it! I _am_ going to marry you!--but I'm _not_ going to marry you till I've sold my book.

I don't suppose I'll get more than a hundred pounds for it, but that will do to start housekeeping together on.