“I could have done something here,” Dyce remarked, with a nodding of the head.

Iris came nearer.  Timidly she laid a hand upon his shoulder; appealingly she gazed into his face.

“Dear”—­it was a just audible whisper—­“you are so clever—­you are so far above ordinary men—­”

Lashmar smiled.  His arm fell lightly about her waist.  “We have still nearly two hundred pounds a year,” the whisper continued.  “There’s Len—­but I must take him from school—­”

“Pooh!  We’ll talk about that.”

A cry of gratitude escaped her.

“Dyce!  How good you are!  How bravely you hear it, my own dear husband.  I’ll do anything, anything!  We needn’t have a servant.  I’ll work—­I don’t care anything if you still love me.  Say you still love me!”

He kissed her hair.

“It’s certain I don’t hate you.—­Well, we’ll see how things look to-morrow.  Who knows?  It may be the real beginning of my career!”