"It’s not all right, by any means, Uncle Nelson," answered Thurston, in the same repressed voice. "My wife has gone against my express wishes." "Ah, by George! Too bad!" exclaimed Lord Stafford, sympathetically. "You’ll go and fetch her, of course?" Thurston failed to answer. An ash dropped loudly on the hearth. "No," said Thurston, finally. "Shall I go and fetch her?" "No." The frozen monosyllable dropped from his lips like an icicle. "What are you going to do?" "I—I am going to wait up for my wife—like a good, obedient husband," he said, bitterly, dropping into a chair. *CHAPTER XVII.* *Late Visitors* The great bronze clock on the mantel struck eleven. Thurston paced the library restlessly. His mother had retired, as usual, a little after ten. He had thought it best to keep from her the fact of Indiana’s escapade; excusing her absence from dinner on the score of a nervous headache, due to the surprise she had received that afternoon. He had impressed upon his mother the necessity of perfect rest and quiet, for that night, at least. Lady Canning had promised not to disturb her, confiding to Thurston that she had anticipated his wife would suffer bad effects from such a "cruel shock," as she expressed it. He wished to save Indiana from the blame his mother would be sure to attach to her, if she knew the truth. He could not brook the idea that his wife should fall one iota from her esteem. And he also wished his mother’s belief in his happiness to remain undisturbed. She would have suffered intense anxiety, on his account, if she had suspected there was any flaw in his marital relations. He hoped that some blessed future period would see his union, with Indiana, established on the solid rock of mutual love. Until then his unhappiness was his own secret, one which he guarded jealously. The inference his household might take from Indiana’s action, was a source of great mortification to him. He went to the window and looked out. The thought rankled in him that if she had felt the slightest respect or love, she could not have treated his wishes with such contempt. When he turned back into the room, Jennings was standing at the door, looking at him wistfully. "Well, what is it?" he asked, in a quick, sharp tone.