don't care if I never hear it again.' That's what I said
to _him._ That's what I say to _you._ I'm a rough 'un, I know; but I
hav'n't broke out of prison, or cheated the gallows--"

"My dear sir," interposed Valentine, eagerly and alarmedly, "pray don't
imagine any such offensive ideas ever entered my head! I might perhaps
have thought that family troubles--"

"That's it," Mat broke in quickly. "Family troubles. Drop it there; and
you'll leave it right."

Before Mr. Blyth could make any attempt to shift the conversation to
some less delicate topic, he was interrupted (to his own great relief)
by the return of young Thorpe to the studio.

Zack announced the approaching arrival of the supper-tray; and warned
"Hercules" to cover up his neck and shoulders immediately, unless he
wished to frighten the housemaid out of her wits. At this hint Mr. Blyth
laid aside his drawing-board, and Mat put on his flannel waistcoat;
not listening the while to one word of the many fervent expressions
of gratitude addressed to him by the painter, but appearing to be in a
violent hurry to array himself in his coat again. As soon as he had
got it on, he put his hand in one of the pockets, and looked hard at
Valentine. Just then, however, the servant came in with the tray; upon
which he turned round impatiently, and walked away once again to the
lower end of the room.

When the door had closed on the departing housemaid, he returned to
Mr. Blyth with the feather fan in his hand; and saying, in his usual
downright way, that he had heard from Zack of Mrs. Blyth's invalid
condition and of her fondness for curiosities, bluntly asked the painter
if he thought his wife would like such a fan as that now produced.

"I got this plaything for a woman in the old country, many a long year
ago," said Mat, pressing the fan roughly into Mr. Blyth's hands. "When
I come back, and thought for to give it her, she was dead and gone.
There's not another woman in England as cares about me, or knows about
me. If you're too proud to let your wife have the thing, throw it into
the fire. I hav'n't got nobody to give it to; and I can't keep it by me,
and won't keep it by me, no longer."

In the utterance of these words there was a certain rough pathos and
bitter reference to past calamity, which touched Valentine in one of his
tender places. His generous instincts overcame his prudent doubts in
a moment; and moved him, not merely to accept the present, but also to