He enjoyed teaching Juana to speak English. Her musical voice stammering out pretty broken words in his own language, was a pleasant thing to hear. She was not content with simply speaking it. Should she be the wife of an American and not be able to read his language? So under his tuition, she set about the study of it with much more industry than suited her husband's indolent temperament. These were halcyon days; seldom were a young couple more united. Their views of life and their aims were the same. The world was a gay garden, and they two were butterflies, disporting themselves in the warm sunshine and draining every drop of sweetness from every flower in their path. Innocent enough flowers they were at first; the delight in each other's society in rambling, riding, boating, and resting under the shadows of broad spreading trees, or, from a lofty balcony enjoying the panorama the summer evening spread before them; the fair city at their feet, its spires and minarets gleaming in the moonlight, and distant mountains piled in soft masses against the crystal sky. When Juana added to the witchery of the scene by singing sweet Spanish airs to the music of the guitar, the young husband half believed he had attained heaven and the society of the angels. When these simple delights ceased to charm, there was the outside world which they had come near to forgetting while in this ecstatic trance. So they plunged into every amusement the gay wicked city offered, and "gave their hearts to folly." They lived in a whirl of pleasure, and Juana felt that now there was nothing more to ask for in life. To be the chosen bride of such a man, and to take her fill of amusement, to dress and dance and sing the days and nights away—was ever cup of happiness so strangely full as hers? If some stray breeze had whispered in her ear that she had tied her happiness to a slender thread, that the day would come when all these things would be to her as chaff, and that if her husband should weary of her, he would fling her aside as he did the rose he plucked in the morning, after breathing its sweetness a moment—then Juana would never have believed such a false whisperer. Paul Everett tired of everything sooner or later. His restless, fickle nature demanded constant change and new sensations. So, after the first novelty of his new mode of life had worn off, he began to return to his old habits of roving, making only short absences at first, but gradually to extend them till weeks grew into months.