is," Dennis said. "But you can face the music?" he went on.
"The music?"—Rose was momentarily blank.
He looked at her hard again. "You have, my dear, the most extraordinary vacancies. The figure we're talking of—the poor, dear little figure. The five-hundred-and-forty," he a trifle sharply explained. "That's about what it makes."
"Why, it seems to me a lovely little figure," said the girl. "To the 'likes' of me, how can that be anything but a duck of an income? Then," she exclaimed, "think also of what's to come!"
"Yes—but I'm not speaking of anything you may bring."
Rose wavered, judicious, as if trying to be as attentive as he desired. "I see—without that. But I wasn't speaking of that either," she added.
"Oh, you may count it—I only mean I don't touch it. And the going out—you take that too?" Dennis asked.
Rose looked brave. "Why it's only for two years."
He flushed suddenly, as with a flood of reassurance, putting his arms round her as round
