"Not only horrible, but impracticable, I should say. I might manage to be supremely happy in the presence of the adored; I do not think I could be 'miserable' exactly in his absence." Then laughing, "Is that really 'pure love?' If so, I am a sceptic too. It would be absurdly weak-minded, and would confine one's happiness to too little a world, to indulge in such a belief. It must be wiser to take enjoyment as it comes in every way, and not be so hopelessly dependant on one." "I entirely agree with you. Indeed I fancy most people would agree with you," replied Sir Mark, carelessly, looking straight before him, with so much meaning in his gaze that instinctively I follow it, until my eyes fall upon Lady Blanche Going, at the other end of the room. Evidently tired and flushed from dancing, she has sunk with lazy grace into a low chair, and now, half turning, is laughing up into Marmaduke's face as he leans solicitously over her. Even as I look she raises her hand to repossess itself of the bouquet he holds, and to my impatience it seems that an unnecessarily long time elapses before the flowers go from his hand to hers. My late careless frivolous words appear to mock me. Why does he look at her like that? Why is he always by her side? Are there no other women in the room? I try to think of something gay and heartless to say to Sir Mark, but just at the moment nothing will come to me. Again the vague jealously of the evening before returns in twofold force, and I bring my teeth rather tightly together. After all Marmaduke said to me on the balcony last night about making myself conspicuous with one, it is, to say the least of it, rather inconsistent with his own behavior now. What a perpetual simper that woman keeps up, merely to show the whiteness of her teeth! How pleased 'Duke appears to be with her inane conversation! Now if I had ever loved him this probably would have vexed me, as it--- Bah! I _will_ think of something else. I turn to Sir Mark, with a very successful little laugh. "A living illustration of my text," I say, bending my head in my husband's direction. "Where? Oh! there." He stares at Lady Blanche reflectively for a minute or so, and then says, "She is certainly good-looking." "'Good-looking!' How very faint! Surely she is handsome. Are you one of those who consider it impolitic to admire one woman to another?" "As a rule I believe it to be a mistake," replies he, coolly; "but in this case I had no thought of policy. I am never quite sure that I do think her ladyship handsome. That she is generally thought so I admit. Marmaduke and she were always good friends." "So I should say." "At one time we imagined a _tendresse_ there, and dreamed of a marriage, but, you see, 'Duke was bent on doing more wisely." "Thanks. That is a pretty put. Was the _tendresse_ you speak of on her side or his?"