It was unlike her to be stubborn about anything.

But in this there had been no moving her.
And now there was nothing before either of them but the same shabbiness and penury as before.

What if George had two hundred and fifty a year of his own, besides his pay ?--a fact that Nelly was always triumphantly brandishing in her sister's eyes.
No doubt it was more than most young subalterns had--much more.

But what was two hundred and fifty a year?
Nelly would want every penny of it for herself--and her child--or children.

For of course there would be a child--Bridget Cookson fell into profound depths of thought, emerging from them, now as often before, with the sore realisation of how much Nelly might have done with her 'one talent,' both for herself and her sister, and had not done.
The sun dropped lower; one side of the lake was now in shadow, and from the green shore beneath the woods and rocks, the reflections of tree and crag and grassy slope were dropping down and down, unearthly clear and far, to that inverted heaven in the 'steady bosom' of the water.