And upon this Lawrence was afraid he had been a silly tyrant. But he now inquired why, then, Prudence smiled on that confounded scamp. "Smiled on him?" she inquired, in bewilderment. "Yes; in a--well, in a peculiar way, calculated to make him think you cared for him--or would like him to care for you--or--oh, no matter what. Stop smiling on him, anyway." Here Lawrence tried to laugh. He felt awkward and foolish. Prudence rose. She knelt down in front of her husband and crossed her arms over her bosom. "My lord," she said, in a low voice, "your will is my law. So be it, even as you have said. I will smile no more on that Meramble man person. And if your slave does not obey, cut off her head; then she will smile no more on any one." Lawrence leaned forward and caught his wife back in his arms. His spirits suddenly rose wildly, and they kept at this high tide for several days. Prudence was as she had been immediately before and after their marriage, passionately in love with him, gay, saucy, tender, caressing. Therefore he was somewhat surprised that, when he came home from Jacksonville one morning, he should meet an acquaintance who should say: "You've missed the excursion down to Matanzas, Lawrence." "Yes, but I meant to miss it," was the reponse. Afterward Lawrence remembered that the man looked at him with some curiosity as he remarked, carelessly: "Mrs. Lawrence likes such junketings better than we do. She's gone in Meramble's launch." "Yes," Lawrence heard himself saying, carelessly, "she's always happy in a boat. How did the tennis match come out? Eustace won, of course?" Then Lawrence walked slowly from the station by this man's side, and put questions about the tennis match, and seemed interested in the lengthy replies. But when he was at last left alone he strode eagerly down to the wharves. He knew there was no regular conveyance to Matanzas, but as he felt now he would go if he had to walk or swim there. He would not try to analyze or subdue the fury in his heart. It was not that he was jealous in the ordinary sense of the word. But that broken promise gave him a poignant and terrible sense of desecration. As he asked here and there at the wharves for a sailboat, he could hardly bring himself to listen to the replies because of the agony of humiliation that overwhelmed him. He recalled with piercing vividness every look and tone as his wife had given the promise. What had she meant? And did she love him? Impossible to doubt it; and yet--The sting of that "yet" was unbearable.