Again there was a softening in his voice, and an indescribable look of tenderness in his face which made him far handsomer than I had ever seen him before. "Does one only want gay companions?" he asked. "I think not. For my own part, I turn with relief to some one who is not gay, some one who can sympathise with my own gravity of temperament. Take pity on me then, Mrs. Hepburne, and spare me a few hours of your society next Thursday." Still I hesitated, wondering why he pressed the point. "The air will do you good," he continued, earnestly. "And I will take care that you are not bored or persecuted in any way. Then, too, there are Ronald's wishes to be considered: he says you are shutting yourself up too much." "Did he say that?" I demanded, eagerly. "Indeed he did," Those inscrutable dark eyes were looking deep into mine. "Is it not natural that he should be anxious about his wife's health and spirits, and natural, too, that he should sometimes speak his thoughts to till old friend?" I reflected for a moment. William Greystock's words sounded kind and reasonable, and I was secretly glad to know that Ronald had displayed some anxiety on my account. "I will come to your picnic, Mr. Greystock," I said at last. "It is kind of you to take an interest in me. Perhaps my husband is right; I have given way too much to depression, and have stayed too long in the house." He thanked me, gravely and courteously, and then quietly went his way. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER XII. JEALOUSY. WHEN Ronald came in, I told him at once of William Greystock's visit, and added that I had accepted the invitation. "Have you? I said to Greystock that I was sure you would not go," remarked my husband, taking up his old station on the hearth with his back to the empty grate. "I thought you would be vexed if I refused," I rejoined, watching him keenly as I spoke. "It would vex me still more if you did anything that you hated doing, Louie. And lately you have shown such a dislike to society that—" "That I had better keep out of it, Ronald? Well, it isn't too late to send an excuse." "Nonsense," he answered, irritably; "Greystock would think you mad. Only, as you have promised to go, do try to enter into the spirit of the thing. Leave your little worries at home, and enjoy yourself with the others." At that moment I wished passionately that I had sent William Greystock away with decided negative. Ronald did not want we to go to this picnic; he was afraid that I should be a kill-joy. Nobody wanted we now; I had only been desirable while my youth and gaiety lasted.