She had used it according to a habit she had of putting a jesting form of phrase upon matters where she was most in earnest. She was amazed to see her husband take it so seriously. “Well, blot out the offending word, and put in any other you choose; only tell me.” “Why do you wish to know, little Curiosity?” said he, recovering himself, and eagerly catching the tone his wife had adopted. “Why? Because I am a little Curiosity, and like to know everything.” “That is both presumptuous and impossible, your ladyship! If one-half the world were always bent on knowing all the secrets of the other half, what a very uncomfortable world it would be!” “I do not see that, even if the first half included the wives, and the second the husbands; which is apparently what you mean to imply.” “I shall not plead guilty to anything by implication.” They went on a few moments longer in this skirmish of assumed gaiety, when Agatha, pausing, leant her elbows on the table, and looked seriously at her husband, “Do you know we are two very foolish people?” “Wherefore?” “We are pretending to make idle jests, when all the time we are both of us very much in earnest.” “That is true!” And he sighed, though within himself, as though he did not wish her to hear it. “Agatha, come over to me.” He held out both his hands; she came, and placed herself beside him, all her jesting subdued. She even trembled, at the expectation of something painful or sorrowful to be told. But her husband said nothing--except to ask if she would like to go anywhere this evening. Agatha felt annoyed. “Why do you put me off in this manner, when I know you have something on your mind?” “Have I?” he said, half mournfully. “Then tell it to me.” “Nay. I always thought it was wisest, kindest, for a man to bear the burden of his own cares.” Nathanael had spoken in his most gentle tone, and slowly, as if impelled to what he said by hard necessity. He was not prepared to see the sudden childish burst of astonishment, anger, and resistance. “From this, I understand, what you might as well have said plainly, that I am not to inquire what passed between you and your brother?” He moved his head in assent, and then sunk it on his left hand, holding out the other to his wife, as though talking were impossible to him, and all he wished were silence and peace. Agatha was too angry for either. “But if I do not choose at nineteen to be treated like a mere child--if I ask, nay, _insist_”--She hesitated, lest the last word might have irritated him too far. Vague fears concerning the full meaning of the word “obey” in the marriage service rushed into her mind. Nathanael sat motionless, his fingers pressed upon his eyelids. This silence was worse than any words. “Mr. Harper!” “I hear.” And the grave, sad eyes--and without any displeasure--were turned upon her. Agatha felt a sting of conscience.