No, not quite all. For, during these early weeks of her engagement, there came to Fulvia a growing sense of a want in her life, a want which did not exist in Nigel's life. She had not so definitely felt the lack before. A consciousness crept slowly over her of being at a lower level, possessing lower aims, acting from lower principles, than Nigel. Sometimes she could almost rejoice in this, could revel in looking up to him as to a superior being. That was only woman-like. But, on the other hand, a woman does wish to be a true companion to the man who chooses her, a help fitted for him; and sometimes her heart sank with the knowledge that she was not so fitted, that there were matters upon which she could offer him no true response. Now and then he would say a few words which gave her a sudden glimpse of depths beyond her ken. She could not follow him into them, and she could not there act what she did not feel. In slighter everyday affairs, Fulvia might disguise her feelings, might wear an occasional mask, but in religious matters she was strictly honest. She always knew on these occasions that her answers repelled him, threw him back into himself. She always felt, with a jealous pang, "Ethel would have gone with him where I cannot." And though she dreaded such embarrassing moments, yet she was grieved to the heart when they came more seldom; for she knew that Nigel was learning not to turn to her for sympathy in his deepest interests. Reserved they both were, and he actually had not known before that such turning would be vain. Fulvia's very grief and jealousy drove her to more thought about religion, though as yet it was only for Nigel's sake. Other teaching than this was needed. A succession of fine Saturdays had meant a succession of long rambles for the two, when at length one came which could be described only as consisting of one continuous pelt. Rain began early, and went on all the morning in a dogged and resolute fashion, with good promise of doing the same during many hours to come. At luncheon a note arrived for Fulvia, which she read and gave to Nigel, with an involuntary "Oh, I can't!" It was as follows:— "DEAR FULVIA,—Will you spend the afternoon of to-day with a lonely old man? I have been thoroughly out of sorts lately, and I want a few words with you. "This nonsense has gone on long enough. You ought to know, all of you, by this time, that my bark is worse than my bite. Manufacture any sort of pretty message that you like from me to the madre, and pray get things right somehow. I can't manage without you and Nigel. Besides, I am going to make a fresh will, and you may help me. "A fly shall call for you at a quarter to three precisely. Mind you come.—Your affectionate uncle, "A. C.-C." "What am I to do? To-day! I can't go," said Fulvia, dismayed. "You cannot set this aside," Nigel replied at once. "But to-day—your one afternoon at home?"