He reached forward, and knocked the ash from his cigar against a stone. To-day his face was almost colorless, and his eyes were hard; and the dreadful thing about his eyes was that when they were turned upon his wife they did not change. As for Prudence, she would have said that her heart was like lead. She dared not soften her voice when she addressed her husband, lest he might turn savagely upon her, though his manner now was as gentle and cold as a flake of snow. She glanced at him shyly, and was inwardly irritated that she should feel timid. She did not wish to be afraid of anything. One is not comfortable when one is afraid. And she was admiring him also; and she wished to tell him of that admiration, and hang upon him, and smile, and caress him. "No," she said, at last, in response to his words; "it means exactly what I say." "Since when have you meant what you say?" He turned his cool, veiled eyes upon her, scanning her interrogatively. She plucked up courage, and replied, lightly: "Oh, I've always had seasons of meaning what I say." "Indeed! But how is one to know when it is the season for truth?" He spoke carelessly, as if he had no interest in the reply, whatever it should be. He puffed out a cloud of smoke and watched it float away. Prudence drew her light mantle closely about her. She would not press her hands together beneath it, though she was tempted to do so. She had expected an explanation, storm, tears, renewed tenderness. Surely he could not be tired of her so soon. She did not answer his question, but apparently he did not notice this. "Rodney, let us go away," she said, earnestly. "I hoped Mr. Meramble would go, but, since he stays, I can't endure my anxiety about you. I can't--I can't!" Her voice grew unsteady. She looked at her husband entreatingly; tears gathered in her eyes. "I am sorry to have you suffer from anxiety on my account," he responded, courteously; "but I think we will remain here. Augustine is a small place, I know, but it will hold Mr. Meramble and me." "Please go!" She moved a little nearer. A faint flush came to his face. "Sorry to refuse you, Prudence, but you ought to see that after having flung Meramble into the water I can't run away as if I were afraid of him. Still, we don't fight duels nowadays, you know." "But sometimes folks kill some other folks," she returned. Lawrence shrugged his shoulders and said nothing. "And Mr. Meramble's smile is so very glittering; it makes my backbone cold," Prudence went on; "and when he looks at you I feel like screaming." "I wouldn't scream, if I were you," Lawrence remarked. "I sha'n't, if I can help it; but I'm sure the time will come when I can't help it." "In that case I'll call you insane and put you into an asylum." Lawrence spoke these words so calmly that his wife shivered again, though she knew he was jesting. The glance she gave him now was not pleasant.