'It's what you've wanted for months.' [Illustration: _Husband and Wife_] 'Well, and if I have, where's the harm?
We can't go on living like this!' And he began to talk, with great rapidity, about the absurdity of attempting to make a living as an artist out of Westmoreland--out of any place, indeed, but London, the natural centre and clearing-house of talent.
'I could make a living out of teaching, I suppose, up here.

I could get--in time--a good many lessons going round to schools.

But that would be a dog's life.

You wouldn't want to see me at that for ever, would you, Phoebe?
Or at painting portraits at five guineas apiece?
I could chuck it all, of course, and go in for business.

But I can tell you, England would lose something if I did.' And, catching up another stone, he threw it into the beck with a passion which made the clash of it, as it struck upon a rock, echo through the ghyll.