To the blacksmith’s--where Susan Green lived! This, then, was the end of his revived affection for herself, that the very first walk he took led him straight back to the vulgar charms of the blacksmith’s daughter. It was a bitter, unpleasant thought, even for a wife not sufficiently fond of her husband to be jealous. It was a humiliation which brought up in her mind the image of the one man who thought her charms superior to those of any other woman. She did not feel jealous, but insulted by the rude speech of her husband, who, after she had used every care, every charm at her command to fulfill her duty to him in sickness and in convalescence, rewarded her with a coarse taunt and an openly expressed intention of leaving her for the society of a girl of low birth and not unspotted name. She drove home, and, as soon as she had taken off her hat and mantle, went into the library, where, in spite of Harry’s rough prohibition, she still continued to give William lessons in French. Dusk was coming on; but it was light enough for her to see the figure bending over a book in a low chair near the window. She crossed the room and put her hand on his shoulder. “William, how wrong of you to try your eyes like that.” He looked up. It was not William, but Harry. “You, Harry?” murmured his wife, in astonishment. “Yes, me--Harry. I may try my eyes as much as I like, mayn’t I?” She took the book gently from his hand. It was “Sartor Resartus.” “You have not been reading this?” she gasped. “Yes, I have. I saw it lying on the table with your book-marker in it, so I took it up to see what it was like; and I’ve read six pages, but I’ll be hanged if I can make head or tail of it!” “Nor can I,” said Annie. “Well, what do you read it for then?” She hesitated. “It was written by a great man, a ‘mighty thinker,’ and I like to try to find out what he means.” “Well, I think it is a very dull amusement. Thomas Carlyle”--looking at the title page. “Mighty thinker, you say. I’ve heard of a mighty hunter----” “Oh, you are thinking of Nimrod! It’s not the same person,” said Annie. “You are laughing at me! Very well!” “Yes, I am,” said Annie, smiling, and putting her arms affectionately round his neck. “But I think, if I didn’t laugh, I should cry--I feel very much touched by finding you--finding you here trying to read my dull books when I was feeling very angry with you for running away from me as you did.” Harry rubbed his curly head against her responsively without saying anything for a minute. Then he looked up searchingly into her face. “Annie, I want to ask you something. Just now Ste--some one told me they had seen Colonel Richardson in Beckham several times during the last few days, and had seen you talking to him.” “Well?” “Well!”--sharply. “And why didn’t you say anything about it?” “There was nothing to say. I met Colonel Richardson, I spoke to him, and that was all. What is there strange in that?”