he worst
and talk of it together, you and I.' No, Amy was not the ideal wife
from that point of view. But the moment after this half-reproach had
traversed his consciousness he condemned himself; and looked with the
joy of love into her clear eyes.

'Yes, there's hope once more, my dearest. No more gloomy talk to-night!
I have read you something, now you shall read something to me; it is a
long time since I delighted myself with listening to you. What shall it
be?'

'I feel rather too tired to-night.'

'Do you?'

'I have had to look after Willie so much. But read me some more Homer; I
shall be very glad to listen.'

Reardon reached for the book again, but not readily. His face showed
disappointment. Their evenings together had never been the same since
the birth of the child; Willie was always an excuse--valid enough--for
Amy's feeling tired. The little boy had come between him and the mother,
as must always be the case in poor homes, most of all where the poverty
is relative. Reardon could not pass the subject without a remark, but he
tried to speak humorously.

'There ought to be a huge public creche in London. It's monstrous that
an educated mother should have to be nursemaid.'

'But you know very well I think nothing of that. A creche, indeed! No
child of mine should go to any such place.'

There it was. She grudged no trouble on behalf of the child. That was
love; whereas--But then maternal love was a mere matter of course.

'As soon as you get two or three hundred pounds for a book,' she added,
laughing, 'there'll be no need for me to give so much time.'

'Two or three hundred pounds!' He repeated it with a shake of the head.
'Ah, if that were possible!'

'But that's really a paltry sum. What would fifty novelists you could
name say if they were offered three hundred pounds for a book? How much
do you suppose even Markland got for his last?'

'Didn't sell it at all, ten to one. Gets a royalty.'

'Which will bring him five or six hundred pounds before the book ceases
to be talked of.'

'Never mind. I'm sick of the word "pounds."'

'So am I.'

She sighed, commenting thus on her acquiescence.

'But look, Amy. If I try to be cheerful in spite of natural dumps,
wouldn't it be fair for you to put aside thoughts of money?'

'Yes. Read some Homer, dear. Let us have Odysseus down in Hades, and
Ajax stalking past him. Oh, I like that!'

So he read, rather coldly at first, but soon warming. Amy sat w