“Nay, Nancy,” he said sorrowfully; and at the sound of her name, or perhaps at the tender note in his voice, the blood surged to her face again; “you mustn’t blame yourself, or anyway you mustn’t take all the blame. Father warned me, but I was too big a fool to heed him. I came that afternoon on purpose to make friends wi’ you, and it wasn’t fate but just hot temper ’at ruined all. It’s changed my nature, Nancy. When father brought word ’at you were married something fell like a thunderbolt i’ my head and has rested on my heart ever since; but I’m a different man—whether I’m better or worse I don’t fairly know.” “Yes, you’re changed,” she said, “and so am I; but the thunderbolt that fells one tree lets more air in for that next to it. It’s me that’s crushed, not you. You’ll make your way, I can see, for this mishap has put ginger into you, and I shall be glad to see you get on. But James’ll move heaven and earth to ruin you: there’s naught so sure as that; and he’s a cleverer headpiece than you, Jagger.” “He can soon have that,” said Jagger with a new note of modesty that was entirely free from sulkiness; “but he’s welcome to do his worst as far as I’m concerned. What’s it matter to me what he does? When we opened t’ new shop I was all for making money; but I’ve learned a hard lesson since then, and I know now ’at money can’t buy t’ best things. I don’t care whether we get on or we don’t so long as we can pay our way, and there’s little fear o’ that; but work’s life, and good work’s luxury—all t’ luxury I care about now, and Inman can’t ruin a man ’at builds on them foundations.” “He’ll try to,” she answered. “Let him try!” he answered. “He can shove as he likes but he’ll never shift t’ Cove—there’s some things too strong even for him. I’m on t’ old man’s side, Nancy, though I’m only a watcher. It’s a game between God and t’ devil; and as long as my father lives I’ll back ’at Inman doesn’t come out on top. Anyway, I’m walking t’ straight road, and he’s welcome to do his worst.” “You sound like Hannah!” She looked up as she spoke, and the sorrow he saw in her eyes—a sorrow shot through with yearning and pain—stabbed him to the heart and caused him to lose control. Before she could guess his purpose he had stooped and kissed her on the lips, and for a moment or two she yielded without protest. The next she rose to her feet and pushed him gently away. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said. “If he knew he’d kill you; but whether he knows or he doesn’t it isn’t walking t’ straight road that you talk about. But it’s the first and last time, and there’s been nobody to see and tell tales, so there’s no harm done. Only, never again, remember! I’m his wife, and I’ll be no other man’s sweetheart.” He bent his head at the rebuke; and she brightened as love and pity stirred in her heart at the sight of his face.