"No," she answered, after a moment, meeting his eyes frankly; "at least, not in the way you mean. The doctor's bills were heavy, and for years father had done business enough to keep the roof over him and no more. So at first there was--well, a pinch. The books will sell, of course; two honest men are already bidding for them--one at Birmingham and the other at Bristol. But meanwhile I must pinch a little or run in debt. I hate debt." "And afterwards?" Rosewarne broke off sharply, with a glance around the table. "But, excuse me, you have laid for one only." "If it is your pleasure, Mr. Rosewarne."-- "Say that I claim it as an honour, Miss Hester," he answered, with a mock-serious bow. She laughed, and ran off to the pantry. "And afterwards?" he resumed, as they seated themselves. "Afterwards? Oh, I go back to the teaching. I like it, you know." He brimmed her glass with champagne, then filled his own. "You saved my life just now, Miss Hester; and life is good to look forward to, even when a very little remains. I drink to your happiness." "Thank you, sir." "How old are you?" "I shall be twenty-five in August." "And how long have you been teaching?" "Eight years." "Ah! is it eight years since I came and missed you? I remember, the last time we three supped together--you and your father and I--I remember taking note of you, and telling myself, 'She will be married before I return next year.' Why haven't you married?" It was the essence of Hester Marvin's charm that she dealt straightly with all people. "It takes two to make even that quarrel," she answered frankly and gaily. "Will you believe that nobody has ever asked me?" "Make light of it if you will, but I bid you to beware. You were a good-looking missie, and you have grown--yes, one can say it without making you simper--into a more than good-looking woman. But the days slip by, child, and your looks will slip away with them. You are wasting your life in worrying over other folk's children. Those eyes of yours were meant for children of your own. What's more, you are muddling the world's work. Which do you teach now--boys or girls?" "Girls for the most part; but I have a class of small boys." "And what do you teach 'em--I mean, as the first and most important thing?" Hester knit her brows for a moment before answering. "Well, I suppose, to be honourable to one another and gentle to their sisters." "Just so. In other words, you relieve a mother of her proper duty. Who but a mother ought to teach a boy those things, if he's ever to learn 'em? That's what I call muddling the world's work. By the time a boy gets to school he ought to be ripe for a harder lesson, and learn that life's a fight in which brains and toil bring a man to the top. As for girls, one-half of present-day teaching is time and money thrown away. Teach 'em to be wives and mothers--to sew and cook."-- "Does your supper displease you, Mr. Rosewarne?"