"I did think Justin was settling down," she said to Anstice; "he seemed so much brighter and more sociable in every way! What a vagabond he is! I think you are a saint to put up with his wandering habits." "Oh, we understand each other," Anstice said lightly. "His hobby is yachting: why should he give it up because he married me? I think it is very bad for men who have no special occupation to be continually at home. Of course, he farms and is very interested in his estate, but it isn't much of a life for any man here." "You're a sensible woman," Mrs. Wykeham said. "I must confess that when you first arrived here, and he went off and left you, I thought it very queer indeed. And then, knowing how selfish men are, I began to put two and two together. His house was a ruin, his children were little fiends, he left you to battle with it all alone and get it straightened out, and then when you had made a thoroughly comfortable and happy home of it, back he comes to enjoy it. Don't contradict me, for you know that it is true! I have known Justin for many years, and he is not one to ride over obstacles, he simply slips round them." "I won't hear you disparage my husband," said Anstice pleasantly, with great firmness. And Mrs. Wykeham knew that she had gone far enough. But afterwards, when she was alone, Anstice began to think about her absent husband. She knew that the charge of selfishness was an accurate one; he had always been accustomed to take the easy path through life, and when catastrophe came to him, he could not get over it. It had made him a sour, embittered man. But lately, Anstice could bring to her mind many little actions of his which made her realize that he could be unselfish at times. He had twice given up fishing expeditions which he had planned out for himself: once to take Ruffie up the Fells on his pony, at his urgent request; once to take Anstice over to Penrith in the car for some necessary shopping. He had gone off one day, and scoured the neighbourhood for a special fern for which Anstice had expressed a wish. She had wanted it for her fernery which she was making. He had often left his smoking-room where he was enjoying a quiet read, and had joined the children for their hour in the drawing-room. This was generally for Ruffie's sake, who had sent one of his sisters to summon him. "No," she said to herself, "he is not an out-and-out selfish man. And I think he would not shirk disagreeables, if he felt they were necessary. I suppose we all take the easy path if we can."