All this gratifies Cecil, who is much too real a woman not to find pleasure in seeing a man made miserable for love of her. "I wish you could bring yourself to speak to me now and then without putting that odious 'Sir' before my name," he says to her one day. "Anybody would say we were utter strangers." "Well, and so we are," Cecil replies, opening wide her eyes in affected astonishment. "How can you dispute it? Why, you never even saw me until a few days ago." "You are my wife at all events," says the young man, slightly discomfited. "Ay, more's the pity," murmurs her ladyship, with such a sudden, bewitching, aggravating smile as entirely condones the incivility of her speech. Sir Penthony smiles too. "Cecil--Cis,--a pretty name.--It rhymes with kiss," he says, rather sentimentally. "So it does. And Penthony,--what does that rhyme with? Tony--money. Ah! that was our stumbling block." "It might have been a worse one. There are more disagreeable things than money. There was once upon a time a stubborn mare, and even she was made to go by this same much-abused money. By the bye,"--thoughtfully,--"you don't object to your share of it, do you?" "By no means. I purchased it so dearly I have quite a veneration for it." "I see. I don't think my remark called for so ungracious a reply. To look at you one could hardly imagine a cruel sentiment coming from your lips." "That shows how deceitful appearances can be. Had you troubled yourself to raise my veil upon your wedding-day you might have made yourself miserable for life. Really, Sir Penthony, I think you owe me a debt of gratitude." "Do you? Then I confess myself _un_grateful. Oh, Cecil, had I only known----" Here he pauses, warned by the superciliousness of her bearing, and goes on rather lamely. "Are you cold? Shall I get you a shawl?" They are standing on the veranda, and the evening is closing in. "Cold? No. Who could feel cold on so divine an evening? It reminds one of the very heart of summer, and---- Ah!" with a little start and a pleased smile, "here is Mr. Lowry coming across the grass." "Lowry! It seems to me he always is coming across the grass." Testily. "Has he no servants, no cook, no roof over his head? Or what on earth brings him here, morning, noon, and night?" "I really think he must come to see me," says Lady Stafford, with modest hesitation. "He was so much with me in town, off and on, that I dare say he misses me now. He was very attentive about bringing me flowers and--and that." "No doubt. It is amazing how thoughtful men can be on occasions. You like him very much?" "Very much indeed. He is amiable, good-natured, and has such kind brown eyes." "Has he?" With exaggerated surprise. "Is he indeed all that you say? It is strange how blind a man can be to his neighbor's virtues, whatever he may be to his faults. Now, if I had been asked my opinion of Talbot Lowry, I would have said he was the greatest bore and about the ugliest fellow I ever met in my life."