She asked it prettily, with a smile like that of maidenhood.

'Heaven forbid! I oughtn't to have put it in that absolute way. I was half joking, you know. But unfortunately it's true that I can't be as light-spirited as I could wish. Does that make you impatient with me?'

'A little. I can't help the feeling, and I ought to try to overcome it. But you must try on your side as well. Why should you have said that thing just now?'

'You're quite right. It was needless.'

'A few weeks ago I didn't expect you to be cheerful. Things began to look about as bad as they could. But now that you've got a volume finished, there's hope once more.'

Hope? Of what quality? Reardon durst not say what rose in his thoughts. 'A very small, poor hope. Hope of money enough to struggle through another half year, if indeed enough for that.' He had learnt that Amy was not to be told the whole truth about anything as he himself saw it. It was a pity. To the ideal wife a man speaks out all that is in him; she had infinitely rather share his full conviction than be treated as one from whom facts must be disguised. She says: 'Let us face the 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.'