"I wish I could make the dream come true," he answered, kissing me, with a troubled look in his eyes. "But if diamonds are unattainable, flowers are always to be had, and you don't want jewels to wear at a quiet dinner. This evening I will bring you some of your favourite roses." "And they are a great deal prettier than jewels," I told him, eagerly. "I remember the first flower you ever gave me was a rose, a Marshal Niel, and I was absurdly delighted with it." "I remember too," he replied, the trouble ladling out of his face. "Ah, I'm glad you have not forgotten. Ronald! Lady Waterville used to say that men always forgot the very things that women treasured up in their memories. As to jewels, I shan't want them in the least, and you may be quite sure that I shall not envy any woman who may happen to be better dressed than I am!" These words came back to me afterwards as if to mock me for my self-confidence. But; when I uttered them, they sprang straight from my heart, and I fancied that Ronald's smile, in answer, was brighter than it had been for a long time. When he had gone City wards, I turned my thoughts again to the black silk gown, and presently I sallied out into Oxford Street to buy the indispensable lace. It did not take long to choose some that was pretty and effective; but when I opened my purse to pay for it, I felt a rush of hot colour burn my cheeks. I had been brought up with what are called old-fashioned principles, and to me it seemed a dreadful thing to spend money that was owing elsewhere. I left the shop with a sense of degradation that took the sweetness out of all my pleasure. The morning was glorious, everybody seemed to be making purchases that day; bright-faced girls and portly mothers were flocking into Marshall & Snelgrove's, serene in the consciousness of ample funds. Pretty young matrons, followed by obsequious shopmen with parcels, swept out to their carriages, well satisfied with their shopping; and I, a shabbily-clad little wife, wended my way homewards, feeling that I had but little in common with them all. Debts are the prickly brambles that encompass an imprudent marriage, and tear the clasped hands of wedded love. It was very seldom that I ventured to speak of them to Ronald; the subject irritated him; and so I endured the pain inflicted by all those little thorns in silence. Sometimes the smart was almost intolerable, and no one knew what bitter tears it wrung from me in solitary hours. Nurse was the only person who guessed my sufferings, but she could not realise how sharp they were. I entered the house, and sat down wearily on the sofa in the little parlour, with my parcel in my lap. It would have been a relief to cry, but I forced back the tears. What would Ronald have said to a wife who went out to dine with red eyes? And I did want to look my best, for his sake, that evening.