“Do not think of such a thing!” exclaimed Arabella, hastily; “it was folly in me to mention it:”--she fixed her eyes on his face, and reading there that his resolution was unchanged, she laid her hand gently on his arm, and continued. “Listen, and I will tell you the whole truth: womanly instinct, I suppose, made your wife dislike me from the first moment she was introduced to me. I have tried in vain to conquer her dislike, and we now, by a sort of tacit consent, avoid each other; were you to interfere in my behalf, it would be of no avail; on the contrary, it would increase the evil, and, pardon my saying, might lead to a disagreement between you; for, I may be mistaken, but I have fancied Mrs. Coverdale appears a little impatient of control sometimes--I hope I am mistaken.” She waited for a reply; but Harry, not being able to deny the charge, and not choosing to assent to it, remained silent, and she, rightly interpreting his reserve, continued:-- “In that case, I implore you, do not dream of advocating my cause. Were I to be the occasion of any difference between you, it would render me most unhappy.” After a moment’s silence, she added-- “I was so much interested when I heard you were going to be married, and hoped, nay prayed, that you might be as happy as I would--would always have you. I am grieved to think that Mrs. Coverdale should not fully appreciate the prize she has drawn in that most uncertain of all lotteries, marriage; but I feel sure she will learn to understand you better, and all will come right: you are evidently much attached to her, and that being the case, she _must_ love you.” Then in a lower tone she added--“_You_ are not one likely to love in vain.” What reply, if any, Harry would have made to this speech, will never be known, as at that minute they entered the line of carriages setting down at the gate of the Chiswick Gardens, and Coverdale had enough to occupy him in preventing his excitable horses from committing a breach of the peace. Whether or no the phaeton groom was an observant man we cannot say, but if he felt the degree of amiable interest usually displayed by domestic servants in the affairs of their superiors, he must have been struck when mentally contrasting Mr. Coverdale’s manner of handing Miss Crofton into and out of that open carriage by an immense accession of cordiality, for which he was probably more puzzled to account than we trust the reader finds himself. CHAPTER XXXV.--FLOWERS AND THORNS. “We have somehow contrived to lose sight of the barouche,” exclaimed Coverdale, after looking up and down the line of carriages in vain; “I expect they must have escaped us when that white-nosed horse shyed at Punch; I fancied I knew which way they had turned, but I must have gone down a wrong street--poor old Crane will be in fits--I wonder what we had better do?”