er drawing. A little gravely perhaps, but not at all inhospitably,
she rose and offered her hand.

"Forgive me," he began, "for coming again so soon."

"Tell me what you think of this idea of a book-cover," said Bertha,
before he had ceased speaking.

He inspected the drawing, found it pretty, yet ventured one or two
objections; and Bertha, after smiling to herself for a little, declared
that he had found the weak points.

"You are really fond of this work?" asked Will. "You would be sorry to
give it up?"

"Think of the world's loss," Bertha answered with raised eyebrows.

He sat down and kept a short silence, whilst the girl resumed her
pencil.

"There were things I ought to have told you on Sunday." Will's voice
threatened huskiness. "Things I forgot. That's why I have come again so
soon. I ought to have told you much more about myself. How can you know
my character--my peculiarities--faults? I've been going over all that.
I don't think I'm ill-tempered, or unjust or violent, but there are
things that irritate me. Unpunctuality for instance. Dinner ten minutes
late makes me fume; failure to keep an appointment makes me hate a
person, I'm rather a grumbler about food; can't stand a potato
ill-boiled or an under-done chop. Then--ah yes! restraint is
intolerable to me. I must come and go at my own will. I must do and
refrain just as I think fit. One enormous advantage of my shopkeeping
is that I'm my own master. I can't subordinate myself, won't be ruled.
Fault-finding would exasperate me; dictation would madden me. Then yes,
the money matter. I'm not extravagant, but I hate parsimony. If it
pleases me to give away a sovereign I must be free to do it. Then--yes,
I'm not very tidy in my habits; I have no respect for furniture; I
like, when it's comfortable, to sit with my boots on the fender; and--I
loathe antimacassars."

In the room were two or three of these articles, dear to Mrs. Cross.
Bertha glanced at them, then bent her head and bit the end of her
pencil.

"You can't think of anything else?" she asked, when Will had been
silent for a few seconds.

"Those are my most serious points." He rose. "I only came to tell you
of them, that you might add them to the objection of the shop."

Bertha also rose. He moved toward her to take leave.

"You will think?"

Turning half way, Bertha covered her face with her hands, like a child
who is bidden "not to look." So she stood for a moment; then, facing
Will ag