He wanted her, he wanted to be married to her, he wanted to have her altogether, as his own for ever. And he waited, intent, for the accomplishment. But there was all the while a slight tension of irritation.

He spoke to his uncle and aunt that night.

“Uncle,” he said, “Anna and me think of getting married.”

“Oh ay!” said Brangwen.

“But how, you have no money?” said the mother.

The youth went pale. He hated these words. But he was like a gleaming, bright pebble, something bright and inalterable.

He did not think. He sat there in his hard brightness, and did not speak.

“Have you mentioned it to your own mother?”