Something rises in my throat and prevents my utterance. Large tears gather in my eyes. "I _am_ changed; I know it." I burst out, suddenly. "Before I married you I was a different person altogether. And how can I help being 'bitter' at times? Even now, when I told you how near death I had been, you showed no feeling of regret--thought of nothing but the delay I had occasioned you and your friends." "Oh, Phyllis," says 'Duke, in a tone that implies that I have wrung his heart by my false accusations, and before either can again speak we have passed a hillock and are in full view of our guests. They are all scattered about in twos or threes, though none are very far distant from the others; and the scene is more than usually picturesque. Certainly the old Deacon knew what he was about when he placed his well in this charming spot. It is a little fairy-like nook, fresh and green, and lying forgotten among the hills. A few pieces of broken-down, ivy-covered wall partially conceal the steps leading to the Wishing Well. "'Duke, let us wish for dinner--and get it--before we wish for anything else," entreats Bebe. "The drive has given me a horrible appetite. I am generally a very nice person--eh, Mr. Thornton?--but just at present I am feeling a downright unladylike desire for food. Phyllis, darling, do say you are hungry." "I am--starving" I reply, though conscious at the moment that the smallest morsel would choke me. "Yes, by all means. 'Business first, pleasure afterwards,'" quotes Chips, blithely, who is stretched full length by Miss Beatoun's side, with his hat off and a straw in his mouth, looking extremely handsome and unspeakably happy. Lord Chandos is at her other side, though rather farther away. "What do you say, Phyllis?" says 'Duke, looking at me. "Do not take me into consideration at all," I return in a suppressed voice. "Dinner now, or in five hours to come, would be quite the same thing to me." I move quickly away from him towards mamma as I say this, and, sinking down on the turf very close to her, slip my hand into hers; and as I feel her gentle fingers closing upon mine, a sense of safety and relief creeps slowly over me. Dinner progresses; and, though I will not acknowledge it, I begin to feel decidedly better. Fragments of conversation float here and there. "I have a great mind to set my little dog at you," says Bebe, in reply to some flagrant compliment bestowed upon her by the devoted Chips. A little _bijou_ of a dog, with an elaborate collar and beseeching eyes, that sits upon her knee and takes its dinner from her pretty white fingers, is the animal in question. "Oh, please don't," murmurs Chips, pathetically. "I am so horribly afraid of your little dog. You would not like me to die of nervous excitement, would you?" "I am not so sure. It would make room for a better man." "Impossible! There isn't a better fellow going than I am. You ask my mamma when you see her."