"Your mother was pretty. But she lost her looks before I could marry her. I had to wait for her; so I know what you're going through. But I fancy waiting comes harder on you than it did on me." "It does," said Keith savagely. "Every day I think I'll marry to-morrow and risk it. But," he added in a gentler tone, "that might come hard on her." "You _could_ marry to-morrow, if you'd accept the proposal I came to make to you." Keith gave a keen look at his father. He had been touched by the bent figure, the wasted face; the evident signs of sickness and suffering. He had resolved to be very tender with him. But not even pity could blind him to the detestable cunning of that move. It revolted him. He had not yet realized that the old man was fighting for his life. "I'm not open to any proposals," he said coldly. "I've chosen my profession, and I mean to stick to it." "That's all very well; but you should 'ave a solid standby, over and above." "Literature doesn't leave much room for anything over and above." "That's where you're making a mistake. Wot you want is variety of occupation. There's no reason why you shouldn't combine literature with a more profitable business." "I can't make it combine with any business at all." "Well, I can understand your being proud of your profession." "Can you understand my profession being proud of me?" Isaac smiled. Yes, he could well understand it. "And," said he, "I can understand your objection to the shop." "I haven't any objection to the shop." "Well--then there's no reason why we shouldn't come to an agreement. If I don't mind owning that I can't get on without your help, you might allow that you'd get on a bit better with mine." "Why, _aren't_ you getting on, father?" "Well, considering that my second-'and business depended on you entirely--and that that's where the profits are to be made nowadays--That's where I'm 'andicapped. I can't operate without knowledge; and from hour to hour I've never any seecurity that I'm not being cheated." Isaac would gladly have recalled that word. Keith met it with silence, a silence more significant than any speech; charged as it was with reminiscence and reproof. "Now, what I propose--" "Please don't propose anything. I--I--I can't do what you want." Keith positively stammered in his nervous agitation.