Hundreds were moving to and fro; the other members of our party gathered round us, but those two seemed to be long in coming. At last, quite suddenly, I found them close upon me. Miss Lorimer, leaning heavily on my husband's arm, looked full into my face with indifferent eyes. "I am tired, Ronald," I said, in an unsteady voice. "Let us get home as quickly as we can. Pray come at once." "What a delightful day we have had, Mrs. Hepburne!" said Ida, without removing her hand from Ronald's arm. "I am afraid you have not enjoyed yourself as much as we have." Commonplace words enough; but for me they contained a sting! "Mrs. Hepburne is not well," said Greystock, kindly. "The heat has been too much for her." "And Mr. Hepburne has been basking in the sun!" remarked Ida, with a little laugh. "He ought to have stayed in the tropics. Now I am going to release him," she added, looking at me. "He is free to return to his duties." There was a quiet insolence in this speech which almost maddened me, over-worn and over-strained as I already was. Well was it that the instincts and habits of a gentlewoman came to my aid at that moment, and prevented a scene. As in a lightning flash, I saw that Ronald feared for my self-control. Was it possible that Ida had gone too far even for him? The consciousness of this feeling on his part was a great help to me. "Thanks, Miss Lorimer," I said, with creditable calmness, as I put my hand within the arm that she had let go. "I am so glad you have done with him. Being a stupid, tired woman I am really thankful for any support. Good-night, I am happy to know you have had a pleasant day." William Greystock said a quiet adieu, and I went off with my husband in silence. In another minute we were in a hansom, rattling home to Chapel Place; but no words passed between us. My resentment was strong and deep, and he knew that it was just. Still in moody silence we entered the little room in which we had spent so many happy hours together. I looked round sadly at all our decorations and ornaments, remembering the days when we had worked with loving hands to make this humble home attractive in our own eyes. How idle all that work seemed to me now! Nothing would ever make Ronald contented here when his heart was elsewhere. "I have been very miserable to-day," I said, at last breaking the long silence and looking steadfastly at his gloomy face. "Any one could see that," he answered, sullenly. "I felt that you had made a mistake in accepting the invitation." "Yes, Ronald." I spoke with rising indignation. "I now perfectly understand why you did not wish me to go." "You always understood me, Louie; I have spoken plainly enough. I did not want you to go unless you could enjoy yourself; and you would not enjoy yourself—that is all." "Do you think it was possible for any woman to enjoy herself under such circumstances?" I demanded, passionately. "Quite possible; it was a fine day, and the people were all agreeable."