Shone had taken to her stockings to be darned, garments to be mended, and had paid her for her work. He was obliged occasionally to call in the aid of a charwoman to do his washing, and also to clean up his house. As to his bit of cooking, he did that himself, but was not skilful at the fire and oven. He fared poorly, and was not infrequently out of sorts—the cause, his own bad cooking. Now all these inconveniences would be rectified had he a wife—and yet—and yet——Shone shook his head. Then an epidemic of scarlet fever broke out in the Dulais Valley. Shone was frightened. For the sake of his child he considered what was to be done. Some provision must be made. If the little one sickened, who was to attend to it?—and attention it would need day and night. The proper person would be Shian—a stranger would never do. But Shian—he could not bid her nurse the child in his house, and to have it throughout the long sickness in hers, and he not with it—that would never do. Besides, she was a dressmaker. She could not take in needlework when there was risk of infection in her house. Shone stamped. What was to be done? “How is it?” he asked, as he came back from the pit. “Very well, Shone. As usual, very cheerful.” “No signs of a sore throat? Have you looked?” “None at all.” “But suppose he were to get it?” “Get what?” “The scarlatina.” “You need not suppose it. He is quite well.” “We must provide against the worst.” “The worst, Shone!” “Oh!” with a shiver, “I do not mean the worst at all—God forbid; but against his catching the fever.” “Well, what will you do?” “Do, Shian? There is nothing else to be done but for you to marry me. You see—I do it for the babe’s sake, and because of the infection.” She was surprised—a little amused. “And,” put in Shone, a little apologetically, “there are my stockings want mending. But, really, for the child’s sake, I wish it.” “I suppose, Shone, if the poor little chap were to be taken ill, he’d be removed from here?” “No doubt of it. The sanitary officer wouldn’t allow it here.” “Nor could I nurse it?” “Certainly not.” “Well, then, Shone, for the scarlatina’s sake I don’t mind if I do take you.” “Then,” said Shone, “we must look sharp. Let me see his throat. He might have it come on sudden. I’ll get a license.” It was certainly an odd proposal and a queer acceptance, and no expense was spared. “Bless me,” said Shone, “for the child’s sake, and because of the scarlet fever, I will stump up a guinea for the license.” So Shone and Shian were married; and the child did not get scarlatina—so that all this trouble and expense were, in Shone’s eyes, thrown away. “Might just as well have chucked it all down a disused coalpit!” said he. Positively he became grumpy and querulous because his child showed no signs of drowsiness, sore throat, and eruption. Not that he wished it to be ill, but he wanted a justification of his marriage.