"What is it?"

"Simply this. If a man has not a half-penny, ought he to ask a woman to
share it? Rather an Irish way of putting the matter," with a laugh, not
without bitterness, "but you understand. Ought he not to wait till he
has at least something to offer besides himself: Is it not mean,
selfish, cowardly, to bind a woman to all the chances or mischances of
his lot, instead of fighting it out alone like a man: My friend thinks
so, and I--I agree with him."

"Then why did you ask me."

The words, though low and clear, were cold and sharp--sharp with almost
unbearable pain. Every atom of pride in her was roused. Whether he loved
her and would not tell her so, or loved some other woman and wished her
know it, it was all the same. He was evidently determined to go away
free and leave her free; and perhaps many sensible men or women would say
he was right in so doing.

"I beg your pardon," he said, almost humbly. "I ought not to have spoken
of this at all. I ought just to have said 'Good-by,' and nothing more."
And he took her hand.

There was on it one ring, not very valuable, but she always liked to wear
it, as it had belonged to her mother. Robert Roy drew it off, and put it
deliberately into his pocket.

"Give me this; you shall have it back again when I am dead, or you are
married, whichever happens first. Do you understand?"