"What a fool I be!" soliloquised nurse, smiling. "I might have known as much. Why, I remember that I took a fancy to my old man when he was blowing his flute; and yet most folks say that a flute's dreadfully disfiguring to the countenance." After that I kissed nurse, and she went off cheerfully to prepare our seven o'clock dinner, while I took my way to our little sitting-room. Finding Ronald lying tranquilly on an old-fashioned sofa, and looking a trifle more like his old self, my spirits rose again, and I began to feel myself a happy woman. Most Londoners are well enough acquainted with Chapel Place—that convenient little alley which runs from Oxford Street into Henrietta Street, Cavendish Square—and it was in Chapel Place that we, a lonely pair of lovebirds, had now found a settled nest. Our rooms were on the ground-floor, and we looked out upon the grey stone wall of the great post-office, and were thankful for any "small mercies" vouchsafed us by stray sunbeams. And yet, from that very first afternoon in nurse's house, I felt that here was to be the truest and happiest home that I had ever known. I watched the pigeons fluttering softly about the east gable of St. Peter's Church, and saw the faint crescent of the new moon rise above the house-roofs, and show its pale golden outline against a background of misty lilac sky. And Ronald, languid but content, studied my brightened face, and lazily whispered that I was once more like the girl he had wooed two years ago. When I read a novel, I always make a point of skipping the explanations, and now that I am writing a story I shall endeavour to explain as little as I can, and to leave as much as possible to the instincts of my intelligent readers. It is necessary, however, that I should briefly state how I came to know Ronald Hepburn, and who and what my husband was. First of all, let me say that he was a soldier, sprung from a long line of soldiers who had fought and served in India. In India he was born, and when I met him, he had just been invalided home and had left the service. You have only to stroll into the neighbourhood of the best clubs and you will see dozens of men exactly like him any day. He was not in any way remarkable, and he had never been handsome, but he possessed a certain indolent grace of manner and bearing—a certain air of high breeding and perfect repose, which are attractions in the eyes of some women. After saying all this, I have merely to add that I like high breeding and repose, and it was therefore not surprising, perhaps, if Ronald Hepburne succeeded, pretty easily, in fascinating me. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER II. LOOKING BACK.