"To hear you one would think," interposed her husband, "that you contemplated painting a multitude. You know as well as I do that Thompkins will be quite agreeable. I should have thought you would have settled the matter out of hand." "I am not at all sure that I will undertake it," retorted Jill pettishly. "I hate painting men; they make such horribly uninteresting subjects; and I'm sick to death of the sound of Evie Bolton's name. Fancy listening for a solid hour to the extolling of her virtues! I don't think I could stand it." "Oh! that's it, is it?" laughed St. John. "Well, of course, you must please yourself, old girl, but I shouldn't let Evie do me out of a fiver if I were you. Besides I have thought lately that Markham avoids the subject I suppose he twigs that you're not so fond of it as he is." Jill said nothing. She had noticed the same thing; and could not help wondering why their visitor came so frequently when he no longer cared to discuss the once all sufficing topic. Jack had formerly declared that he only came to talk Evie, but that could hardly be said of him now. Sometimes Mrs Jack fancied that his suit did not progress altogether as he could have wished, and in her womanly, whole-hearted way felt sorry for him. She had been so happy in her own love that she would have pitied anyone less fortunate than herself. Besides she liked Markham and admired his perseverance, though she wondered occasionally whether he would have been quite so devoted had Miss Bolton been penniless like herself. "I saw the Governor on my way home," observed St. John at length, breaking the silence with a short laugh. Mrs St. John's heart gave a sudden jump. "He didn't--cut you?" she queried. "Oh, dear no! bowed to me almost as though he considered me on an equality. Feels jolly rum being treated by one's father like that." "I call it abominable of him," Jill cried hotly. "He seems absolutely heartless." St. John looked amused. "Well, I don't quite see what else he could have done under the circumstances," said he. "I don't blame him for giving me the kick out and all that as I disappointed him, but I do for not bringing me up to some profession; it's beastly rough luck for me." Jill laid one small hand upon his shoulder, ever so light a touch but it carried great comfort with it. "You don't make a good poor man, dear," she said gently. "You should have known my father; he was always cheerful even in his poorest moments; yet no one would have called him careless nor improvident. He was simply brave and self-reliant." "Little mentor," answered her husband gravely, drawing her face down to his. "I accept the rebuke; there shall be no more complaints. I will be `up and doing--learn to labour and to wait.'" CHAPTER FIFTEEN.