“But I like so much to be with her,” Francis remonstrated, piteously. “It’s very friendly of you to give me these hints, and I dare say you’re right, to some degree. I know Maude used to seem very tired at Combe Western, and we both got into the habit of looking at our watches in a dispiriting kind of way every quarter of an hour; but since we’ve come to London she has quite recovered her spirits, and we are so happy together;--you should have heard her laugh the other morning, when I taught one of the Skyes to shoulder arms with a lead-pencil.” Mr. Tredethlyn laughed aloud himself at the recollection of this feat. Harcourt Lowther shrugged his shoulders, and a frown, or the passing shadow of a frown, darkened his handsome face. There are some natures in which there is a certain element of childishness, and between such natures no desperate antagonism is ever likely to arise. “We were rather dull at Combe Western,” said Mr. Tredethlyn, presently; “but since we’ve been in London we’ve got on capitally. I’ve been everywhere with Maude--shopping even; and I’ve written out the lists for her parties, and been on a round of calls; and, in short, I’ve been the happiest fellow in all creation.” “No doubt, my dear boy; that sort of thing’s delightful for a fortnight; but look out for the day when the twin demons of satiety and disgust will arise to wither all these Arcadian delights.” Francis pondered gravely. He had been happy since his return to London, for he had seen Maude bright and lively, pleased with the novelty of her position, happy in her father’s affectionate welcome, serene in the consciousness of pure intentions, and grateful for the devotion, of which some new evidence met her at every turn. Poor Francis had been entirely happy; but it needed only a whisper from an elegant Mephistopheles in modern costume to render this simple Cornishman doubtful even of his own happiness. It might be only a sham and delusion, after all; and Maude’s sunniest smile might be the smile of a victim resigned to the sacrifice. “If you think that Maude is likely to grow tired----” Francis began, in a very melancholy tone; but Mr. Lowther interrupted him. “_If_ I think! dear boy. How can I do otherwise than think what is obvious to the dullest apprehension? Take life as other people take it, my dear, simple-minded Tredethlyn, and you’ll find it go smoothly enough with you. Try to live on a plan of your own, and--the rest is chaos. ‘_Il n’est pas de bonheur hors des routes communes: Qui vit à travers champs ne trouve qu’infortunes._’ You had better stick to the vulgar highway, Frank, and not attempt to set up an exceptional _ménage_. No woman will long tolerate a man tied to her apron string. She may be flattered by his devotion in the beginning, but she ends by despising his folly.”