It was the first day that he had been out of doors since his illness, and he was very good-tempered and happy, sitting wrapped up in rugs by his wife’s side in Lady Braithwaite’s pony-carriage; and, after that trial of it, the daily drive became an institution. Annie found that the explanation they had at the time of that little episode of the sporting-books had had the satisfactory result of making Harry more docile than ever; and when, in the country lanes through which they drove for miles each day over the frost-bound earth, she started him on some favorite topic of his, such as the training of race-horses or the advantages of a straight saddle, she found that she could continue her own train of thought almost undisturbed, by the help of a nod of approval every now and then; and she found him quite an endurable companion. But unfortunately Harry was not so stupid as he was ignorant, and one day, when Annie had given a pleasant smile of approbation of what he was saying without having listened to it, he suddenly stopped short in the middle of a sentence, and, looking round at him in surprise, his wife found that he was sulking. “Go on, Harry; that is very interesting,” said she innocently. “No, it isn’t; you don’t know what I was talking about,” he returned sullenly. “Yes, I do, Harry. You were talking about--horses,” said she, with what she thought a safe guess. But her husband looked blacker than ever. “I wasn’t talking about horses, as it happens. It shows how much you care what I say. I’m much obliged to you for letting me see that I bore you. Stop! I’ll get out;” and he tossed off his rugs. “No, no, don’t, dear Harry! Let me drive you home. It is only a little way; but it is too far for you to walk yet. I’m very, very sorry I was so inattentive; but the fact is I--I have something on my mind that is troubling me; and so----” “Have you, Annie?” he asked anxiously. “What is it?” Then, noticing the expression of his wife’s face, his manner changed, and he cried roughly, “It is a lie! It is an infernal excuse! Stop, I tell you, or I’ll jump out without your stopping! Now I’ll be hanged if I let you drive me out any more! You are just a little hypocrite, pretending to listen and be so sweet, when all the time you don’t care what I say if I talk myself hoarse. Go and talk your learned jargon with George, and William, and--the deuce, if you like! I’m going to Joe Green’s, the blacksmith.” She had stopped, seeing it was of no use to try to argue with him in this mood, and that to disobey him would only be to see him break his neck before her eyes. And she drove home full of remorse, after watching him vault over a gate to take a short cut to the village, and making one more effort to stop him by a piteous cry of “Harry!” of which he took no notice.