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She crossed to him, and put her hands on his breast.

“Money—is that all? What does it matter?”

“We must have bread to eat. Do you think I’d ask you to live in a drover's hut?”

“I’d be happy there with you.”

He made a movement as though to take her in his arms again, and then drew back.

“I wish that—was true.”

“It is true.”

He shook his head.

“For the minute, perhaps, you think it is. You’ve said yourself that marriage between us two wouldn’t be a simple job. Do you think poverty would make it easier?”

“There needn’t be poverty. Listen, Rodney—I have my business here. I’m making money—every week I’m doing better. I’ve got to take a little house somewhere in town. You’ve been offered this job of stock-buying—or even as a drover you’ve got to live somewhere.”

“Do you mean that I’m to live on your money?” he demanded.

“We’d live together on our own money.”

“No.”

She put her arms round him.

“Rodney, Rodney,” she said a little wildly, “are you going to let your foolish stubborn pride come between us a second time? Oh, my dear, I know that marriage will be difficult for us—there are plenty of rocks ahead—but, darling, isn’t it better to be together on the ship, taking our chance of danger—sharing it—than drifting all alone?”

He tried to put her arms aside.