ainst it in
a perfectly natural way, and as any one else would have done who knew
Tarrant. More than once he had declared to her that he would rather die
than drag out his life in one of the new countries, that he could
not breathe in an atmosphere of commercialism unrelieved by historic
associations. Nancy urged that it would be better to make a home on
the continent, whither they could go, at any moment, without a sense of
exile.

'So it comes to this,' he interrupted, with an air of resignation.
'I must refuse Vawdrey's offer, and, in doing so, refuse an excellent
chance of providing for our future, _if_--what is by no means
improbable--the secret should be discovered. I must turn to journalism,
or be a clerk. Well and good. My wife decrees it.'

And he began to hum an air, as if the matter were dismissed. There was a
long silence.

'How long would you be away?' murmured Nancy, at length.

'I suppose two months at most.'

'November--December.'

'The second of those months you might be spending, as you said, away
from London. Down in Devon, perhaps. I can't blame your thoughts about
it; but it seems--doesn't it?--a trifle inconsiderate, when you think
what may result from my journey.'

'Would you promise me to be back by the end of the year?'

'Not promise, Nancy. But do my best. Letters take fourteen days, that's
all. You should hear by every mail.'

'Why not promise?'

'Because I can't foresee how much I may have to do there, and how
long it will take me. But you may be very sure that Vawdrey won't pay
expenses for longer than he can help. It has occurred to me that I might
get materials for some magazine articles. That would help to float me
with the editors, you know, if it's necessary.'

Nancy sighed.

'If I consented--if I did my best not to stand in your way--would you
love me better when you came back?'

The answer was a pleased laugh.

'Why, there,' he cried, 'you've given in a nutshell the whole duty of a
wife who wishes to be loved!'

Nancy tried to laugh with him.

CHAPTER 8

He must be a strong man whom the sudden stare of Penury does not daunt
and, in some measure, debase. Tarrant, whatever the possibilities of his
nature, had fallen under a spell of indolent security, which declared
its power only when he came face to face with the demand for vigorous
action. The moment found him a sheer poltroon. 'What! Is it possible
that I--_I_--am henceforth penniless? I, to whom the