"So you really give me up?" cried he in anger. She bowed her head. "For both our sakes I give you up." "You never really cared for me!" "I did--I do. You are the only man I ever loved; but I cannot blind myself even so. If you had only a small income I would marry you; or if you had a strong will or a clever brain I would marry you. But, Gerald, dear Gerald, you know you have neither. You are the dearest fellow in the world; yes, and the handsomest, and the nicest, but--but without an income! No, dear, it would never do. We should grow to hate each other in no time. Take my advice: marry a rich woman, and you will be happy." He looked at her for a moment, and tried to speak. Then his fury overcame him, and he grew scarlet in the face and inarticulate. Alarmed at his violence Hilda ran out of the room. As she opened the door her father appeared. "Arkel, Arkel, what is this?" he said. "Control yourself, man, control yourself." Gerald staggered forward and clutched the doctor's arm. Again he tried to speak, but failed to articulate a word. Then, with a pitiable cry, he fell senseless to the floor. "Ah," said the doctor, bending over him with professional calm, "even were you rich as Croesus, you are not the husband for my child." "What is it?" cried Mrs. Marsh coming on the scene. "Nothing--don't alarm yourself. Just a little exhibition of the Barton family nerves, my dear, that's all. Neurosis, neurosis: that ever tabooed word! It came out queerly enough in the uncle, goodness knows! I wonder what shape it's going to take now in the nephew?" "Has he given up Hilda?" "Well, no; but she's given him up. Wait here, Amelia. I must get something from the surgery." CHAPTER XVIII. THE REWARD OF MIRIAM. Mrs. Perks received her quondam lodger with much show of heartiness. During those few weeks' stay at the Pitt Hotel, while she had been recruiting her shattered health prior to taking up the engagement at Lesser Thorpe, Miriam had endeared herself to the little woman. And Mrs. Perks, although snappish, distrustful, and burdened by the many cares and hardened by the experience of sordid London life, was, nevertheless--as she said herself--not slow to recognise a good woman when she saw one, and she had long since admitted Miriam in her own mind to that category. She had regretted Miss Crane's departure sincerely, and now welcomed her even more so. "You shall 'ave your own bed and sitting-room," she said, drawing her shawl tightly round her spare form, "and that for as long as you likes. Don't offer me money, or I shall refuse it with scorn; so don't offer it, I begs." "But I can't live on you for nothing, Mrs. Perks." "If it's pride which sticks in your throat," said the landlady rubbing her nose, "there is the 'ouse accounts which I can't do nowise, not 'aving an intelligent 'ead for figures. Do them for me, Miss Cranes, and you'll be paying me 'andsome."