"Good-bye, darling," whispers my Bebe, stooping over me, and rubbing her cheek with a little purring motion to mine. "Be a good child, and let Marmaduke pet you to his heart's content. You want an overdose, now you have been so long alone." At length they are all gene, leaving the house to fall back into its old silence and calm. All, that is, except Marmaduke, who lingers purposely. "There is no reason," he says, in answer to my inquiring look, "why all those people should know so soon the terms on which we have arranged to live. By degrees it can make itself known." I lie idly thinking, idly putting together in my mind the strange story of my life. Once, looking up, I catch his gaze intently fixed upon me. Twice, three times, I meet it, and then, growing irritable through exhaustion and excitement, I say, pettishly:--- "Why do you look at me so? I hate being stared at. One would imagine I had more heads than one. Is my appearance so very grotesque, Marmaduke?" "Was I staring?" he asks, absently, and drawing out his watch, examines it anxiously, and then commences a slow promenade up and down the room. He appears distrait, impatient. His eyes are now turned towards the window that overlooks the avenue. It is as though he were expectant of some one's arrival. "If you are not going until the next train," I remark, snubbily, "you have two full hours to wait: therefore you need hardly calculate minutes so soon. That is the eighth time you have examined your watch within the past ten minutes." Certainly I am not in my most amiable mood. "I am not returning to London to-night," he says, calmly. "I dare say I can get a bed at that place in the village." "Surely, considering this is your own house, you need not throw yourself on the mercy of the parish for a bed. Martha will see about a room for you." "It is your house, not mine. I made you a present of it when--some time ago. However," quickly, "if you invite me, I shall gladly put up here." Turning his face to the window, and away from me he goes on rapidly:--- "To tell you the truth, Phyllis, the chief reason for my staying here now is this: I made an appointment with Sir James Smithson to meet me in this house at four o'clock, to to take a look at you, and tell me his opinion as to your state of health." "Sir James Smithson!" I cry, angrily. "Do you mean to tell me you have brought a doctor to torment me and make me miserable? This is what comes of marrying you. Oh, why was I so weak as to give in to your wishes? I won't see him--you may be sure of that." "My darling, be reasonable," with the humblest entreaty. "It will only be for a few minutes. Directly he sees you, he will know the very thing that will set you up again. There is not, there cannot be, anything seriously wrong with you. Good advice is all you require. Why will you insist on--on---"