A slight red mounted in Doris's cheeks.

"Oh, you may be as scornful as you like! But ten pounds is ten pounds,
and I like keeping engagements."

The "work" in question meant illustrations for a children's book. Doris
had accepted the commission with eagerness, and had been going regularly
to the Campden Hill studio of an Academician--her mother's brother--who
was glad to supply her with some of the "properties" she wanted for her
drawings.

"I shall soon not allow you to do anything of the kind," said Meadows
with decision.

"On the contrary! I shall always take paid work when I can get it," was
the firm reply--"unless--"

"Unless what?"

"You know," she said quietly. Meadows was silent a moment, then reached
out for her hand, which she gave him. They had no children; and, as he
well knew, Doris pined for them. The look in her eyes when she nursed
her friends' babies had often hurt him. But after all, why despair? It
was only four years from their wedding day.

But he was not going to be beaten in the matter of Crosby Ledgers. They
had a long and heated discussion, at the end of which Doris surrendered.

"Very well! I shall have to spend a week in doing up my old black gown,
and it will be a botch at the end of it. But--_nothing--will induce