be shabby to get rid of my responsibilities at her expense--don't
you think so?"

"Worse than shabby."

"Good. I like to hear you speak so decidedly. Now, if you please"--his
own voice was not quite steady--"tell me in the same tone whether you
agree with Applegarth--whether you think I should do better to stick to
the shop and not worry with looking for a more respectable employment."

Bertha seemed to reflect for a moment, smiling soberly.

"It depends entirely on how you feel about it."

"Not entirely," said Warburton, his features nervously rigid; "but
first let me tell you how I do feel about it. You know I began
shopkeeping as if I were ashamed of myself. I kept it a dead secret;
hid away from everybody; told elaborate lies to my people; and the
result was what might have been expected--before long I sank into a
vile hypochrondria, saw everything black or dirty grey, thought life
intolerable. When common sense found out what was the matter with me, I
resolved to have done with snobbery and lying; but a sanguine friend of
mine, the only one in my confidence, made me believe that something was
going to happen--in fact, the recovery of the lost thousands; and I
foolishly held on for a time. Since the awful truth has been divulged,
I have felt a different man. I can't say that I glory in grocerdom? but
the plain fact is that I see nothing degrading in it, and I do my day's
work as a matter of course. Is it any worse to stand behind a counter
than to sit in a counting-house? Why should retail trade be vulgar, and
wholesale quite repeatable? This is what I've come to, as far as my own
thought and feeling go."

"Then," said Bertha, after a moment's pause, "why trouble yourself any
more?"

"Because--"

His throat turned so dry that he had to stop with a gasp. His fingers
were doing their best to destroy the tassels on the arm of his easy
chair. With, an effort, he jerked out the next words.

"One may be content to be a grocer; but what about one's wife?"

With head bent, so that her smile was half concealed, Bertha answered
softly--

"Ah, that's a question."

CHAPTER 46

After he had put the question, the reply to which meant so much to him,
Will's eyes, avoiding Bertha, turned to the window. Though there wanted
still a couple of hours to sunset, a sky overcast was already dusking
the little parlour. Distant bells made summons to evening service, and
footfalls sounded in the otherwise silent stre