Then, coming to him again, she flung her arms piteously round him.
'Oh, John, John--for a year past--and more--you've been sorry you
married me!'

'What on earth's the matter with you?' he cried, half in wrath, half
astonished. 'What's come to you, Phoebe?'

'Oh! I know,' she said, withdrawing herself and speaking in a low
current of speech. 'You were very fond of me when we married--and--and
I dare say you're fond of me now--but it's different. You were a boy
then--and you thought you'd get drawing-lessons in Kendal, and perhaps
a place at a school--and you didn't seem to want anything more. And
now you're so ambitious--so ambitious, John--I'--she turned her head
away--'I sometimes feel when I'm with you--I can't breathe--it's just
burning you away--and me too. You've found out what you can do--and
people tell you you're so clever--and then you think you've thrown
yourself away--and that I'm a clog on you. John'--she approached him
suddenly, panting--'John, do you mean that baby and I are to stay all
the winter alone in that cottage?' She motioned towards it.

He protested that he had elaborately thought out all that she must do.
She must go to her father at Keswick for the summer and possibly for
the winter, till he had got a footing. He would come up to see her as
often as work and funds would permit. She must look after the child,
make a little money perhaps by her beautiful embroidery.

'I'll not go to my father,' she said, with energy.

'But why not?'