Henrietta hesitated. Her dignity as a married woman, and the reality of her grief, revolted against the shallow acuteness of the schoolgirl. But she found herself no better able to resist Agatha’s domineering than she had been in her childhood, and much more desirous of obtaining her sympathy. Besides, she had already learnt to tell the story herself rather than leave its narration to others, whose accounts did not, she felt, put her case in the proper light. So she told Agatha of her marriage, her wild love for her husband, his wild love for her, and his mysterious disappearance without leaving word or sign behind him. She did not mention the letter. “Have you had him searched for?” said Agatha, repressing an inclination to laugh. “But where? Had I the remotest clue, I would follow him barefoot to the end of the world.” “I think you ought to search all the rivers--you would have to do that barefoot. He must have fallen in somewhere, or fallen down some place.” “No, no. Do you think I should be here if I thought his life in danger? I have reasons--I know that he is only gone away.” “Oh, indeed! He took his portmanteau with him, did he? Perhaps he has gone to Paris to buy you something nice and give you a pleasant surprise.” “No,” said Henrietta dejectedly. “He knew that I wanted nothing.” “Then I suppose he got tired of you and ran away.” Henrietta’s peculiar scarlet blush flowed rapidly over her cheeks as she flung Agatha’s arm away, exclaiming, “How dare you say so! You have no heart. He adored me.” “Bosh!” said Agatha. “People always grow tired of one another. I grow tired of myself whenever I am left alone for ten minutes, and I am certain that I am fonder of myself than anyone can be of another person.” “I know you are,” said Henrietta, pained and spiteful. “You have always been particularly fond of yourself.” “Very likely he resembles me in that respect. In that case he will grow tired of himself and come back, and you will both coo like turtle doves until he runs away again. Ugh! Serve you right for getting married. I wonder how people can be so mad as to do it, with the example of their married acquaintances all warning them against it.” “You don’t know what it is to love,” said Henrietta, plaintively, and yet patronizingly. “Besides, we were not like other couples.” “So it seems. But never mind, take my word for it, he will return to you as soon as he has had enough of his own company. Don’t worry thinking about him, but come and have a game at lawn tennis.”