He took the book from her and went through it. Again he made a curious sound of surprise and pleasure.

`There's some not bad stuff in there,' he said.

`Not at all bad,' she answered gravely.

He felt again her interest in his work. Or was it for himself? Why was she always most interested in him as he appeared in his work?

They sat down to supper.

`By the way,' he said, `didn't I hear something about your earning your own living?'

`Yes,' she replied, bowing her dark head over her cup.

`And what of it?'

`I'm merely going to the farming college at Broughton for three months, and I shall probably be kept on as a teacher there.'

`I say--that sounds all right for you! You always wanted to be independent.'

`Yes.'

`Why didn't you tell me?'

`I only knew last week.'

`But I heard a month ago,' he said.

`Yes; but nothing was settled then.'

`I should have thought,' he said, `you'd have told me you were trying.'

She ate her food in the deliberate, constrained way, almost as if she recoiled a little from doing anything so publicly, that he knew so well.

`I suppose you're glad,' he said.

`Very glad.'

`Yes--it will be something.'

He was rather disappointed.

`I think it will be a great deal,' she said, almost haughtily, resentfully.

He laughed shortly.

`Why do you think it won't?' she asked.

`Oh, I don't think it won't be a great deal. Only you'll find earning your own living isn't everything.'

`No,' she said, swallowing with difficulty; `I don't suppose it is.'

`I suppose work can be nearly everything to a man,' he said; `though it isn't to me. But a woman only works with a part of herself. The real and vital part is covered up.'