d him when he reflected that
his wife was henceforth a charge to her mother.

Of course for the moment only. He had no sooner begun to move about, to
prepare his breakfast (amid the relics of last evening's meal), to think
of all the detestable work he had to do before to-morrow night, than his
heart sank again. His position was well-nigh as dolorous as that of any
man who awoke that morning to the brutal realities of life. If only for
the shame of it! How must they be speaking of him, Amy's relatives,
and her friends? A novelist who couldn't write novels; a husband
who couldn't support his wife and child; a literate who made eager
application for illiterate work at paltry wages--how interesting it
would all sound in humorous gossip! And what hope had he that things
would ever be better with him?

Had he done well? Had he done wisely? Would it not have been better to
have made that one last effort? There came before him a vision of quiet
nooks beneath the Sussex cliffs, of the long lines of green breakers
bursting into foam; he heard the wave-music, and tasted the briny
freshness of the sea-breeze. Inspiration, after all, would perchance
have come to him.

If Amy's love had but been of more enduring quality; if she had
strengthened him for this last endeavour with the brave tenderness of
an ideal wife! But he had seen such hateful things in her eyes. Her love
was dead, and she regarded him as the man who had spoilt her hopes of
happiness. It was only for her own sake that she urged him to strive on;
let his be the toil, that hers might be the advantage if he succeeded.

'She would be glad if I were dead. She would be glad.'

He had the conviction of it. Oh yes, she would shed tears; they come so
easily to women. But to have him dead and out of her way; to be saved
from her anomalous position; to see once more a chance in life; she
would welcome it.

But there was no time for brooding. To-day he had to sell all the things
that were superfluous, and to make arrangements for the removal of his
effects to-morrow. By Wednesday night, in accordance with his agreement,
the flat must be free for the new occupier.

He had taken only two rooms, and fortunately as things were. Three would
have cost more than he was likely to be able to afford for a long time.
The rent of the two was to be six-and-sixpence; and how, if Amy had
consented to come, could he have met the expenses of their living out
of his weekly twenty-five sh