One of the reasons which had furnished Mr. de Burgh with an excuse for remaining quietly at Silverton all that season, and perhaps had much to do in reconciling his wife to the arrangement, was the fact of Mrs. de Burgh's situation, promising an addition to their family in the early part of the winter; and as the heir was far from being a strong child, the chance of other healthy sons was most acceptable. Therefore, more care than the gay young wife had ever taken of herself, on previous occasions, was rendered desirable. * * * * * "Yes!" Mrs. de Burgh said one day, when she was driving with Mary, in allusion to these above-mentioned expectations, "I have been patient all through this season in consequence, although it is provoking that Louis should so selfishly spend his time, interest, and fortune, in the improvement, as he calls it, of this property; of one thing, however, I am quite certain, that he will soon tire of the pursuit, leave everything half done, and take some other quirk into his head, which, no doubt, will be equally tiresome--build a yacht perhaps, and station me and the children at Cowes; whilst he amuses himself with this new toy, and then is astonished at my being discontented, and amusing myself as I best may. Oh, Mary!" she added, "when you marry, never give way to your husband's selfishness in the first instance, or you will find it annihilating at the last." "Did _you_ give way?" inquired Mary, with some archness. Mrs. de Burgh laughed. "No, I cannot exactly say I did," she replied. "I had not the slightest idea that Louis would ever have any will but mine; of course, he gave me reason to suppose so before we married; but ere the honeymoon was over, I found out my mistake. Anything that did not interfere with his own pleasure, or inconvenience, I was at liberty to do; but that was not what I wanted. I expected him to be the slave of my slightest wish." "But was not that somewhat unreasonable?" suggested Mary. "It certainly proved a mistake; and so we soon began to pull different ways, and I suppose will do so to the end of the chapter." "Oh, my dear Olivia, how can you talk thus, when you and Louis ought--and do really, I am sure--so to love one another?" Mary exclaimed, feeling shocked and sorry. "Humph it does not signify much what we ought to do, or what lies _perdue_, when daily and hourly experience makes us most feelingly act and speak to the contrary. As for Louis, the quiet, unresisting manner in which he has allowed me to do things other husbands would have soon prevented, contenting himself with a few cutting words and sneering inuendoes, does not speak much for the depth of his affection. But the fact is, there is not much depth of any kind in Louis's nature--no strength--no firmness of feeling or purpose--nothing to lay hold of except the whim of the moment, and that melts away before you can get a very sure grasp.