‘Oh, we was always in there, miss,’ admitted Joan, moving closer. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. She had been careless. He felt that he might soon be separated—perhaps, for ever—from the fond little creature he held in his arms, whom he had always regarded with the warmest fraternal affection, and the thought of how much she would suffer from the separation so sensibly affected him, that he could not help joining in her grief. The fellow Kimble, to whom Gerald was indebted, was gaping. With incredible labour, and by the aid of both spike and nail, he succeeded in getting the point of the bar beneath the fillet. Of all crafts,—and it was the only craft his poor father, who, to do him justice, was one of the best workmen that ever handled a saw or drove a nail, could never understand,—of all crafts, I say, to be an honest man is the master-craft. I wish to prevent a repetition of any such errand as I presume you have come here upon this evening.
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