There was something magnificent in the gesture, and a movement, half thrill, half shudder, ran through the wife's delicate frame.

She clasped her hands round his arm, and drew close to him.
'John!--are you going to leave baby and me behind ?' Her voice, as she pressed towards him, her face upraised to his, rose from deep founts of feeling; but she kept the sob in it restrained.
Fenwick felt the warmth and softness of her young body; the fresh face, the fragrant hair were close upon his lips.

He threw both his arms round her and folded her to him.
'Just for a little while,' he pleaded--'till I get my footing.

One year! For both our sakes--Phoebe!' 'I could live on such a little--we could get two rooms, which would be cheaper for you than lodgings.' 'It isn't that!' he said, impatiently, but kissing her.

'It is that I must be my own master--I must have nothing to think of but my art--I must slave night and day--I must live with artists--I must get to know all sorts of people who might help me on.