sk advice--I should try to think
that it wasn't, but that the girl had simply changed her mind, and went
on and on, struggling with herself till she could stand it no longer.
I've no taste for melodrama quiet comedy is much more in my
line--comedy ending with mutual tolerance and forgiveness. To be sure,
if you feel you can't live without her, if you're determined to fight
for her--"

"Fight with whom?" cried Franks.

"With _her_; then read Browning, and blaze away. It may be the best;
who can tell? Only--on this point I am clear--no self-deception! Don't
go in for heroics just because they seem fine. Settle with yourself
whether she is indispensable to you or not.-- Indispensable? why, no
woman is that to any man; sooner or later, it's a matter of
indifference. And if you feel, talking plainly with yourself, that the
worst is over already, that it doesn't after all matter as much as you
thought; why, get back to your painting. If you can paint only ugly
women, so much the better, I've no doubt."

Franks stood reflecting. Then he nodded.

"All that is sensible enough. But, if I give her up, I shall marry some
one else straight away."

Then he abruptly said good-night, leaving Warburton not unhopeful about
him, and much consoled by the disappearance of the shadow which had
threatened their good understanding.

CHAPTER 11

The Crosses, mother and daughter, lived at Walham Green. The house was
less pleasant than another which Mrs. Cross owned at Putney, but it
also represented a lower rental, and poverty obliged them to take this
into account. When the second house stood tenantless, as had now been
the case for half a year, Mrs. Cross' habitually querulous comment on
life rose to a note of acrimony very afflictive to her daughter Bertha.
The two bore as little resemblance to each other, physical or mental,
as mother and child well could. Bertha Cross was a sensible, thoughtful
girl, full of kindly feeling, and blest with a humorous turn that
enabled her to see the amusing rather than the carking side of her
pinched life. These virtues she had from her father. Poor Cross, who
supplemented a small income from office routine by occasional comic
journalism, and even wrote a farce (which brought money to a theatrical
manager), made on his deathbed a characteristic joke. He had just
signed his will, and was left alone with his wife. "I'm sure I've,
always wished to make your life happy," piped the afflicted woma