"Now what do you mean, Mrs. J.? Three hundred a-year is three hundred a-year. Let us be on the safe side, if you like, and put it down at two hundred: which would be allowing for my present pay being only doubled. Do you mean to say two people could not live on two hundred a-year? I know we could; she and I." "Two people might, when both are economically inclined. But then you see, Mr. Yorke, one ought always to allow for interruptions." "What interruptions?" demanded Roland. "Sickness. Or pay of pupils falling off." "We are both as healthy as ever we can be," said Roland, heartily. "If I had not been strong and sound as a young lion, should I have stood all that knocking about at Port Natal? As to pay and pupils, we might take care to make _them_ sure." "There might be things to increase expenses," persisted Mrs. Jones, maintaining her ground as usual. "Children, for instance." Roland stared with all his eyes. "_Children!_" "It would be within the range of possibility, I suppose, Mr. Yorke. Your brother Gerald has some." "Oh law!" cried Roland, his countenance falling. "And nobody knows what a trouble they are and how much they cost--except those who have tried it. A regular flock of them may come trooping down before you are well aware." The vista presented to Roland was one his sanguine thoughts had never so much as glanced at. A flock of children had not appeared to him less likely to arrive, than that he should set up a flock of parrots; and he candidly avowed it. "But we shouldn't want any children, Mrs. J." Mrs. J. gave a rather derisive sniff. "I've known them that want the fewest get bothered with the most." Roland had not another word to answer. He was pulling his whiskers in much gloom when Miss Rye was heard to enter. Mrs. Jones began to roll her work together, preparatory to retiring for the night. "Look here, Mrs. Jones. I'm uncommon fond of children--you should see how I love that sweet Nelly Channing--I'd not mind if I had a score about the place; but what becomes of the little monkeys when there's no bread and cheese to feed them on?" "That's the precise difficulty, Mr. Yorke." CHAPTER XX. GRAND REVIEWS. Gerald Yorke's book was out. An enterprising firm of publishers had been found to undertake it, and they brought it forth in due course to the public. Great reviews followed closely upon its advent, lauding its merits and beauties to the skies. Three critiques appeared in one week. The great morning paper gave one, as did the two chief weekly reviewing journals. And each one in its turn sung or said that for ages the public had not been so blest as in this most valuable work of fiction.