His cool tone drove me to distraction. He was standing on the hearth in his old attitude, evidently prepared for a quarrel. "Oh, Ronald," I said, "you knew all the time that you were making me wretched. Was it manly—was it right—to flirt openly with a woman who tried to ignore me?" "My dear Louie," he began, in that tone of easy superiority which a man nearly always assumes when he is in the wrong. "I wish—I really do wish—that you would go and consult Dr. Warstone to-morrow. You are suffering from hysteria or dyspepsia, or—" He paused, unable to think of any other disorder on the spur of the moment; but I had calmed myself by a mighty effort; I would be as cool as he was. "Perhaps I am suffering from one of those complaints," I said, composedly. "I know I have been ill for a long time, but I don't want to give in if I can help it." "Why shouldn't you give in?" he demanded, pettishly. "I gave in when I was ill. Anything is better than going about in a chronic state of bad temper, and snubbing unoffending people." I did not reply. It cost me no effort to be silent now. I saw the uselessness of this war of words, and quietly took up the bedroom candlestick. "As to people trying to ignore you," he continued, following me into the next room, "all that they try to do is to get out of the way of your wrath. If you had only seen your own face to-day, you would have known why you were shunned." My heart seemed to be fast hardening within me, and still I kept silence. As I stood before the glass unbinding my hair, I noticed the stony look that had settled on my features. No wonder Ronald cared nothing about a woman who was so haggard and unlovely. And then I thought of that other woman, with her pink-and-white face and golden tresses. My silence was not without an effect. He was ashamed of his unkind words; but this, alas! I did not know till long afterwards. If he had but yielded then to one of his old affectionate impulses, all might have been well. But who does not remember the loving words that were not spoken at the right moment? How heavily they weigh on the heart after the opportunity of uttering them has gone by! Still in sullen silence we lay down side by side. I know not whether he slept; I only know that I lay wide awake all through the weary hours of that memorable night. Ah me, I thought of other nights when I had watched beside his pillow, praying that he might be spared to me! I recalled those long midnight hours when he had wakened from fevered dreams to find me near, and many a broken word of love and gratitude yet haunted my memory. Had he loved Ida Lorimer then? Had he secretly sighed for her presence in the sick room instead of mine?