"Yes, I will tell you all about that; I am rather proud of my power. It is not a long story, and it dates from the day on which your mother sent me that letter." She told him all her studies, her struggles, her perseverance, her success, finally her crowning by fame. "It is like a romance," he said. "Yes, only it is true," she replied. He tried to prolong the interview, but she would close it; and he was compelled to leave her, when he would have given years of his life to have remained one hour longer. CHAPTER XLI. "LET US BE FRIENDS." "Lance," said the sweet voice of Lady Marion, plaintively, "I am beginning to have a faint suspicion about you." "Indeed. Your suspicions are not faint as a rule. What is this?" "I am afraid that you are growing just a little tired of me," said the beautiful queen of blondes. "What makes you think so?" he asked, trying to laugh, as he would have done a few weeks since at such an accusation. "Several reasons. You are not so attentive to me as you used to be; you do not seem to listen when I speak; you have grown so absent-minded; and then you say such strange things in your sleep." He looked grave for half a minute, then laughed carelessly. "Do I? Then I ought to be ashamed of myself. Men talk enough in their waking hours without talking in their sleep. What do I say, Marion?" He asked the question carelessly enough, but there was an anxious look in his dark eyes. "I cannot tell; I hardly remember," said Lady Chandos; "but you are always asking some one to forgive you and see you. Have you ever offended any one very much, Lance?" "I hope not," he replied. "Dreams are so strange, and I do not think they are often true reflections of our lives. Have you any further reason for saying I am growing tired of you? It is a vexed question, and we may as well settle it now as renew the argument." "No, I have no other reason. Lance, you are not cross with me, dear?" "No, I am not cross; but, at the same time, I must say frankly I do not like the idea of a jealous wife; it is very distasteful to me." Lady Marion raised her eyes in wonder. "Jealous, Lance?" she repeated. "I am not jealous. Of whom could I be jealous? I never see you pay the least attention to any one." "Jealous wives, as a rule, begin by accusing their husbands of cooling love, want of attention, and all that kind of thing." "But, Lance," continued the beautiful woman, "are you quite sure that there is no truth in what I say?" He looked at her with a dreamy gaze in his dark eyes. "I am quite sure," he replied. "I love you, Marion, as much as ever I did, and I have not noticed in the least that I have failed in any attention toward you; if I have I will amend my ways." He kissed the fair face bent so lovingly over him; and his wife laid her fair arms round his neck. "I should not like to be jealous," she said; "but I must have your whole heart, Lance; I could not be content with a share of it."