“And you came down here to-day still believing it! And you could kiss a man you believed capable of such an infamous thing!” “No, no, Harry; don’t look at me like that! The moment you spoke to me alone in this room I felt it could not be true; because, you see, I was sure you loved me, and that cleared it all away.” And her husband drew her again into his arms, with a mist before his own eyes. Dusk had fallen, and they were still sitting there, when they were roused from a silence of perfect happiness by the prosaic sound of the dinner-bell. Harry had great difficulty in keeping his boyish high spirits under proper control during dinner, and, when it was over, he said: “Let us go out of doors, Annie; there isn’t room enough for my happiness in a stuffy house.” So he put on her hat and mantle very carefully and very clumsily, and they went out into the park. “Take me to see the horses, Harry. Here’s your cigar-case; I saw it up-stairs, so I brought it down.” “I may smoke then?” “Yes, of course. You are going the wrong way. Isn’t that the way to the stables?” “Yes; but I’m not going to take you there; you only ask to go to please me.” “On my word of honor, I ask to go to please myself; and, if you don’t like to take me, I shall go over them with one of the stablemen, while you are sulking over your cigar by yourself. Now are you coming?” So they went through the stables together, and Harry was quick to note the genuine ring in the interest, for what concerned him concerned her too now; and they walked all round the park together, and he said: “Do you think you could ever live happily with me here, Annie?” “And give up the stage?” “Well, act only now and then. You might take an engagement for three months or more, but not give yourself up to it altogether. I know you are too clever to just settle down to keeping house for a dull, ignorant husband.” “You’re not dull and ignorant, Harry.” “Well, not so ignorant as I was,” said he, with, mysterious complacency. “Do you think that would be too great a sacrifice, Annie?” “No, indeed. I couldn’t throw my whole heart into my acting now if I thought I was neglecting you.” “And you will come and see me every Sunday, and stay till Monday evening now, won’t you? I mustn’t ask more than that yet, I suppose.” And she consented readily enough. And then came the crowning triumph of the day to Harry. He led his wife into the library, the volumes of which had luckily been collected long before his occupation of Kirby Hall, and said, turning proudly to her: “You never thought I should get fond of books, Annie. Well, I have, and I like this room better than any in the house.” There were three photographs of her on the mantel-piece, there was a liqueur-case on a side-table, and the room was strongly perfumed with tobacco. Annie’s eyes twinkled, but she only laughed contentedly. “And now you shall hear me read aloud,” said he.