ing come to what
seemed an end of his difficulties. For half an hour they continued to
talk over the affair.

'Well, it's a comical idea,' said Carter, as he took his leave, 'but you
know your own business best.'

When Amy returned, Reardon allowed her to put the child to bed before he
sought any conversation. She came at length and sat down in the study.

'Mother advises us not to sell the furniture,' were her first words.

'I'm glad of that, as I had quite made up my mind not to.' There was a
change in his way of speaking which she at once noticed.

'Have you thought of something?'

'Yes. Carter has been here, and he happened to mention that they're
opening an out-patient department of the hospital, in the City Road.
He'll want someone to help him there. I asked for the post, and he
promised it me.'

The last words were hurried, though he had resolved to speak with
deliberation. No more feebleness; he had taken a decision, and would act
upon it as became a responsible man.

'The post?' said Amy. 'What post?'

'In plain English, the clerkship. It'll be the same work as I used to
have--registering patients, receiving their "letters," and so on. The
pay is to be five-and-twenty shillings a week.'

Amy sat upright and looked steadily at him.

'Is this a joke?'

'Far from it, dear. It's a blessed deliverance.'

'You have asked Mr Carter to take you back as a clerk?'

'I have.'

'And you propose that we shall live on twenty-five shillings a week?'

'Oh no! I shall be engaged only three mornings in the week and three
evenings. In my free time I shall do literary work, and no doubt I can
earn fifty pounds a year by it--if I have your sympathy to help me.
To-morrow I shall go and look for rooms some distance from here; in
Islington, I think. We have been living far beyond our means; that must
come to an end. We'll have no more keeping up of sham appearances. If I
can make my way in literature, well and good; in that case our position
and prospects will of course change. But for the present we are poor
people, and must live in a poor way. If our friends like to come and see
us, they must put aside all snobbishness, and take us as we are. If they
prefer not to come, there'll be an excuse in our remoteness.'

Amy was stroking the back of her hand. After a long silence, she said in
a very quiet, but very resolute tone:

'I shall not consent to this.'

'In that case, Amy, I must do without your consent. The