"You must be glad you didn't say No," suggested Joan.

"Yes," she answered, "'E's got on. I always think of that little poem,
'Lord Burleigh,'" she continued; "whenever I get worrying about myself.
Ever read it?"

"Yes," answered Joan. "He was a landscape painter, wasn't he?"

"That's the one," said Mrs. Phillips. "I little thought I was letting
myself in for being the wife of a big pot when Bob Phillips came along in
'is miner's jacket."

"You'll soon get used to it," Joan told her. "The great thing is not to
be afraid of one's fate, whatever it is; but just to do one's best." It
was rather like talking to a child.

"You're the right sort to put 'eart into a body. I'm glad I came up,"
said Mrs. Phillips. "I get a bit down in the mouth sometimes when 'e
goes off into one of 'is brown studies, and I don't seem to know what
'e's thinking about. But it don't last long. I was always one of the
light-'earted ones."

They discussed life on two thousand a year; the problems it would
present; and Mrs. Phillips became more cheerful. Joan laid herself out
to be friendly. She hoped to establish an influence over Mrs. Phillips
that should be for the poor lady's good; and, as she felt instinctively,
for poor Phillips's also. It was not an unpleasing face. Underneath the
paint, it was kind and womanly. Joan was sure he would like it better
clean. A few months' attention to diet would make a decent figure of her