‘Not knowingly, I quite believe,’ replied Kirkwood. ‘But what a miserable home it is!’ ‘Yes.’ Jane shook her head. ‘She doesn’t seem to know how to keep things in order. She doesn’t seem even to understand me when I try to show her how it might be different.’ ‘There’s the root of the trouble, Jane. What chance had Pennyloaf of ever learning how to keep a decent home, and bring up her children properly? How was _she_ brought up? The wonder is that there’s so much downright good in her; I feel the same wonder about people every day. Suppose Pennyloaf behaved as badly as her mother does, who on earth would have the right to blame her? But we can’t expect miracles; so long as she lives decently, it’s the most that can be looked for. And there you are; that isn’t enough to keep a fellow like Bob Hewett in order. I doubt whether any wife would manage it, but as for poor Pennyloaf—’ ‘I shall speak to him myself,’ said Jane quietly. ‘Do! There’s much more hope in that than in anything I could say. Bob isn’t a bad fellow; the worst thing I know of him is his conceit. He’s good-looking, and he’s clever in all sorts of ways, and unfortunately he can’t think of anything but his own merits. Of course he’d no business to marry at all whilst he was nothing but a boy.’ Jane plied her needle, musing. ‘Do you know whether he ever goes to see his father?’ Sidney inquired presently. ‘No, I don’t,’ Jane answered, looking at him, but immediately dropping her eyes. ‘If he doesn’t I should think worse of him. Nobody ever had a kinder father, and there’s many a reason why he should be careful to pay the debt he owes.’ Jane waited a moment, then again raised her eyes to him. It seemed as though she would ask a question, and Sidney’s grave attentiveness indicated a surmise of what she was about to say. But her thought remained unuttered, and there was a prolongation of silence.