At first the sulks had been passive; he had merely withdrawn himself, gone into his shell, after his old fashion. But under the influence of his grudge and his unhappiness he went further now, not of set purpose, but with an instinctive striving after the sympathy and support for which he longed, and an instinctive desire to make the object of his resentment uncomfortable. He tried to gather a party for himself, to win the members of the household to his side, to isolate Bernadette. This effort affected his manner towards her. It lost some of its former courtesy, or at least his politeness was purely formal; he became sarcastic, disagreeable, difficult over the small questions of life which from time to time cropped up; he would call the others to witness how unreasonable Bernadette was, or to join him in ridiculing or depreciating her pursuits, her tastes, or her likings. Sometimes there was an indirect thrust at Oliver Wyse himself. Being in the wrong on the main issue generally makes people anxious to be in the right in subsidiary matters. Bernadette, conscious of the cause of her husband's surliness, met it with perfect good-nature--behaved really like an angel under it, thought Judith with one of her bitterly humorous smiles. Arthur, a stranger to the cause of the surliness--for though he had given Oliver Wyse a thought or two on his own account, he had given him none on Godfrey's score--was troubled at it, and proportionately admired the angelic character of the response. His chivalry took fire. "What's the matter with the old chap?" he asked Judith. "He's downright rude to her sometimes. He never used to be that." "Something's upset him, I suppose--some little grievance. I don't think she minds, you know." "I mind, though, especially when he seems to expect me to back him up. I'll soon show him I won't do it!" "You'd much better not mix yourself up in it--whatever it is. It won't last long, perhaps." "I can't stand it if it does. I shall have it out with him. The way Bernadette stands it is perfectly wonderful." Another halo for the fair and saintly head! Judith jerked her own head impatiently. The natural woman longed to cry out: "Don't you see how clever the minx is?" Sometimes the natural woman was tempted to wish that Oliver Wyse would swoop down, carry off his prey, and end the whole situation. But there was to be a little more of it yet, a little more time for the fascination of the new manner and the halo of imputed saintliness to work. Oliver Wyse had interrupted his visit by reason of the illness of an old uncle, to whom he had owed his start in life and whom he could not neglect. It had proved rather a long business--Bernadette read a passage from Sir Oliver's letter to the company at breakfast--but the old man was convalescent at last, and Sir Oliver would be able to leave him in three or four days more, if all went well.