hen I shall take off to sea as much as I
want of her, an' the rest, temper included, can bide at home till I
calls for it. That's all I've got to say. 'Liza's a beauty beyond
compare, an' her beauty I worships, an' means to worship. But if any
young man wants to take her, I tell him he's welcome. So long t' ye
all!"

Still holding the canvas carefully a foot from his waistcoat, to avoid
smearing it, he sauntered off to the quay-steps, and hailed his boat
to carry him aboard the _Rare Plant_. As he passed the girl he had
thus publicly jilted, her fingers contracted for a second like a
hawk's talons; but she stood still, and watched him from under
her brows as he descended the steps. Then with a look that, as it
travelled in a semi-circle, obliterated the sympathy which most of the
men put into their faces, and the sneaking delight which all the women
wore on theirs, she strode out of the fish-market and up the street.

Seven-an'-Six squeezed the paint out of his brushes, packed up his
easel and japanned box, wished the company good-day, and strolled back
to his inn. He was sincerely distressed, and regretted a hundred times
in the course of that evening that he had parted with the portrait
and received its price before Captain Hosken had made that speech. He
would (he told himself) have run his knife through the canvas, and
gladly forfeited the money. As it was, he lingered long over the
supper it procured, and ate heartily.

A mile beyond the town, next morning, Boutigo's van, in which he was
the only passenger, pulled up in front of a roadside cottage. A bundle
and a tin box were hoisted up by Boutigo, and a girl climbed in. It
was 'Liza.

"Oh, good morning!" stammered the little painter.

"I'm going to stay with my aunt in Truro, and seek service," the girl
announced, keeping her eye upon him, and her colour down with an
effort. "Where are you bound?"

"I? Oh, I travel about, now in one place, next day in another--always
moving. It's the breath of life to me, moving around."

"That must be nice! I often wonder why men tie themselves up to a wife
when they might be free to move about like you, and see the world.
What does a man want to tack a wife on to him when he can always carry
her image about?" She laughed, without much bitterness.

"But--" began the amiable painter, and checked himself. He had been
about to confess that he himself owned a wife and four healthy
children. He saw this family about once in