Was she thinking that there had been occasions since her marriage when she _had_ almost forgotten how much she owed to the devotion of her lover,--occasions on which some little social failure--some small omission or commission--some petty sin against the laws of the Belgravians and Tyburnians, had been large enough to blot out all memory of her husband’s goodness? How can you remember that a man has a noble heart, when, for want of the ordinary tact by which the well-bred navigators steer their barks amid the troubled waters of society, he blurts out some unlucky allusion which paralyzes the conversational powers of an entire dinner-table, and brings blight and ruin down upon an assemblage which has fairly promised to be a success? Or how can you be expected to appreciate the generous spirit of a being whose ungainly elbow has just tilted half-a-dozen _petites timbales de gibier_ into the ruby-velvet lap of your most important guest? There were times when Maude was forgetful of everything except her husband’s genial good-nature and unfailing devotion. There were other times when her heart sank within her as she saw his candid face beaming at her from the remote end of a long dinner-table, and heard his sonorous laugh pealing loud and long above the hushed accents of Belgravia. He was her slave. If she loved him--and surely it was impossible that she could accept so much idolatry, and render no small tribute of affection in return--her love for him was pretty much of the same quality as that which she bestowed on her favourite Skye terrier. He was such a dear, devoted creature--so sensible, so obedient; and if he did not quite stand up in a corner to beg, with a bit of bread upon his nose, it was only because he was not required to do so. He was the best of creatures--a big, amiable Newfoundland, ready to lie down in the dirt to be trodden upon by his mistress’s pretty slipper, or to fly at the throat of the foe who dared to assail her. He was a faithful slave and defender, and it was very pleasant to know that he was always at hand--to be patted on the head now and then when he was specially good--to be a little neglected when his mistress was absorbed by the agreeable distractions of society--to be blushed for, and even disowned now and then, when his big awkward paws went ruthlessly trampling upon some of the choicest flowers in the conventional flower-garden.