Again I felt a sudden heart-sinking. And yet how absurd and unreasonable this dislike to William Greystock would appear to others. As far as I knew, he had never done me the slightest harm, nor had he ever crossed my path since my marriage. Even supposing he had once been somewhat in love with me, was that any reason why I should hate the sound of his name? Any way, he had never pestered me with unwelcome attentions, but had withdrawn himself quietly when he found that my heart was not for him. And being a strong-minded, strong-willed man, he had doubtless conquered his fancy long ago. Ronald took up his hat and stick, kissed me again, and went off, whistling as gaily as a school-boy. He really had the air of a man who was going to find good things; and I could not help fancying that our mysterious melody had inspired him with a cheerful spirit. And then, after he had gone his way, the miserable experience of last night rushed back into my mind like a flood, and, silly woman that I was, I sat still and brooded over it. I felt I should like to know a little more about his affair with Ida Lorimer. But not for the world would I ever mention her name to him again—no, not if we lived together as man and wife for a hundred years! Yet if any one who had known my husband in his bachelor days—Lady Waterville, for instance—would give me some scraps of information about him and Ida, I knew that I should fasten greedily upon them. Later on, I learnt that love should listen to no tales that do not come from the loved one's own lips. But heaven only knows what bitter hours we spend before we have mastered that lesson. [Illustration] CHAPTER VIII. MARIAN. IT was five in the afternoon when Ronald returned from the city. He came home in capital spirits; but, although I paid the closest attention to all that he said, I really could not discover any definite ground to build a hope upon. "When you look about you," he remarked, "you soon find out that money-making is very easy work." "I have already found that money-spending is very easy work," I replied, rather dolefully. "Don't be gloomy, Louie—for heaven's sake don't be gloomy!" implored my husband, sinking down upon the sofa with a groan. "How is a man to go to work if you depress his spirit? You are a good girl, my dear, but you are always ready with your extinguisher!" I was a little hurt. There had been a time when He had called me his light-bearer, guiding him out of the darkness and perplexity of a lonely life. The falling off of poetry after marriage has been a sore trial to many a young matron; but few, perhaps, are quite as oversensitive as I was in those days. The first two or three months of our wedded life had been an idyl; then there were no curt speeches, no sarcasms, no disagreements. But now it seemed as if we were always saying the wrong things to each other. What was to be done?