Lady Gwendolyn was standing at a book-shop waiting for him, and put her arm into his without a word. Neither did he make any remark. He thought it best not to speak of Mrs. O’Hara, until he had heard what she had to say on the morrow. Lady Gwendolyn was unusually grave and quiet for the rest of the day, and if he happened to raise his eyes suddenly he caught a very wistful look of the dark eyes; but he bided his time, and still said nothing. That night when Lady Gwendolyn fancied that her husband was asleep she cried softly to herself, for the string of old, sad memories in her heart had been too much for her, and she wondered fearfully if this woman had come to take her husband from her as she had taken Percy Gray from poor Lady Maria. “She is tired, poor child!” he said to himself; and, leaving word with her maid that she was not to rise a moment earlier than she felt inclined, on his account, as he was going for a walk, he amused himself with a morning visit to the Palais Royale. Returning about ten o’clock, he was met at the door of the salon by Phœbe, who said that her mistress begged him to excuse her, as she had a tiresome headache, and would lie down for another hour. This was the first time Colonel Dacre had been called upon to breakfast without the fair fresh face of his spouse near him at table, and an expression of disappointment came into his gray eyes. Nevertheless, he said with admirable self-abnegation: “Tell your mistress not to get up on any account, if she feels better in bed. But I suppose I shall be able to see her before I go out?” “My lady desired particularly that she might not be disturbed, sir. She said she thought she should be well enough to take a drive in the afternoon if she kept quiet for the next few hours.” “Oh, very well!” answered Colonel Dacre. And he might have been unreasonable; but somehow he felt snubbed. “What has her ladyship taken, Phœbe?” “A strong cup of tea, sir; that was all she would have.” And the girl, who was already attached to her young mistress, looked quite distressed. Colonel Dacre was obliged to assume a tranquillity he did not feel to reassure her. “Rest is sure to do her more good than anything, Phœbe. Be sure and tell her ladyship when she rings for you that I was obliged to go out this morning; but shall hope to see her at luncheon time.” Phœbe bowed, and left the room. Then Colonel Dacre swallowed a cup of coffee, ate part of a roll, and then, telling the waiter to get him a cab, prepared for his visit to Mrs. O’Hara. He found his old friend reclining on a sofa in an exquisite peignoir of pale blue cashmere, trimmed with lace, while a coquettish little cap rested on the top of her brown hair. She held out to him her jeweled hand languidly. “I am so glad to see you, Lawrence. How is your wife?” “She is rather tired this morning.” “I hope that is all.”