h men as Ayre that I shall
be condemned to eat my heart out till I die."

Putting down her work, his wife came to him from the other side of the
table.

"Geoffrey, don't say that!"

Tears were actually in her eyes.

"Philippa, what's the matter?" As he put his arms about her and drew her
on to his knee, he felt that she was trembling. "Sweetheart, what is
wrong?"

"Don't speak like that of Philip Ayre!"

"Not speak like that of Philip Ayre! Why, lady, do you hold a brief for
him? You silly child! It's only a foolish way I have. But if you could
only realise how I long, and long, and strive, and strive, to stand up
with the best of them, you would understand how it galls me to find how
I am thrust aside by men whose work seems to me to be so poor a thing.
For their work's sake, I almost begin to hate the man."

"Geoffrey! Geoffrey! Not that! not that!"

Flinging both her arms about his neck, she burst into an hysterical
flood of weeping--she who never cried.

"Dear heart!--tell me!--what is wrong!--Philippa! Philippa!--my wife."

She did not tell him what was wrong. It seemed as if she could not tell
him what was wrong. Perhaps, as he told himself, it was because, after
all, there was nothing wrong. She was only out of sorts that
day-unusually out of sorts for Philippa.

After a while he began upon another theme.

[Illustration: "HIS WIFE WENT WHITE TO THE LIPS."]

"Sweetheart, if something doesn't come in soon--and I don't know where
it's going to come from--I can't see what we shall do for money. I don't
know if you are acquainted with the state of the family finances. What
we must owe the people I am afraid to think. Why they don't worry us
more than they do is a mystery to me. I see you've been getting new
boots for the children. They wanted them. But they'll have to be paid
for, I suppose. Never mind! All things come to those who wait, and luck
will come to me. I'm sure I've waited. Let's hope that an unexpected
cheque will come along. Anyhow, wait until the 'The Beggar' is finished.
It'll be a splendid thing-you see! I'm putting some of the best work
into it I ever did. If it doesn't win the first prize, it's bound to win
the third. Why, Philippa, your eyes are red. The idea of your crying
because I was pushed against the wall to make room for an unknown ass
like Mr. Philip Ayre!"

"The Beggar" was finished. It was sent in. Then came the weeks of
waiting. Geoffrey Ford did scarcely any work. The l