"But I sha'n't let you interfere too much. What do men know of millinery?" she asked contemptuously. "I am sure I know what would suit you," he replied. "You see, you're very vivid, and very much alive; you stand out, so you really want, if I may say so, attenuating, subduing, shading." "Perhaps you would like me to put my head in a bag?" "No one would regret that more than I should." "I foresee we're going to quarrel about this hat," she answered. "Now, Mr. Denison, do let me explain to you, I don't want anything _smart_. I don't want to look like _Paris Fashions_." "No? What do you want to look like?" "Why, artistic, of course! What a blighter you are!" Rupert winced at this vague accusation. They were nearly at her house and he put his hand on hers in a way that was rather controlling than caressing. "Let me have one little pleasure. Let me choose your hat myself," he said. He was terrified at the idea of what she might come out in on artistic grounds. Then she would tell all her friends it was a present from him! She had no sort of reticence. "Well, I suppose you must have your own way. Do you really know anything about it?" she asked doubtfully. "Rather. Everything!" They arrived. She jumped out. "Well, I'll ring you up and tell you when I can go there and meet you. Good-bye! You _are_ a nut!" CHAPTER V A HAPPY HOME The first six months after his marriage it used to give Nigel a thrill of gratification and vanity to go home to his house, one of the finest in Grosvenor Street, and splendidly kept up. Then he had suddenly grown horribly sick of it, longed for freedom in a garret, and now he associated it with no thrill of pride or pleasure, but with boredom, depression, quarrels and lack of liberty. Liberty! Ah! That was it; that was what he felt more than anything else. He had married for money chiefly to _get_ liberty. One was a slave, always in debt--but it was much worse now. The master of the house lost all his vitality, gaiety and air of command the moment he came into the hall. "Where's Mrs. Hillier?" "Mrs. Hillier is in the boudoir, sir." The boudoir was a little pink and blue Louis Seize room on the ground floor, opposite the dining-room. From the window Mary could watch for Nigel. That was what she always did. She hardly ever did anything else. Few women were so independent of such aids to idleness as light literature (how heavy it generally is!), newspapers, needlework or a piano. Few people indeed had such a concentrated interest in one subject. She was sitting in an arm-chair, with folded hands, looking out of the window. It was a point of vantage, whence she could see Nigel arrive more quickly than from anywhere else. As soon as he caught the first glimpse of her at the window it began to get on his nerves. It was maddening to be waited for. ...