“No; how can you?--you have not seen her for ages. She is greatly changed in every way; no longer the giddy, impulsive girl you remember. If you only knew how _distracted_ she was when you were so dangerously wounded!” “Pray how can you tell?” he asked with raised brows and a certain amount of sarcastic incredulity in his expression. “I know all about it from Miss Saville. She told me that during the week that followed Captain Vaughan’s letter Alice fretted away to half her size, and that her grief and misery were painful to witness.” Perceiving that he was gradually wavering, she urged: “You will _have_ to go down to Monkswood, my dear Regy, if only for the sake of public opinion. Go as her guardian at any rate; putting your wife aside, it is your duty to go and see your ward. You will go, if only for a few days,” she entreated anxiously. “Yes, I will go,” he replied slowly and with an evident effort. “I never looked at the subject from your point of view before. I see that it is necessary for me to study appearances, but I only go as her _guardian_, recollect. You are very eager in the matter, Helen, and very pressing,” he added with a smile, “but Alice is by no means so anxious to see me as you imagine.” “She is! she is!” cried Helen, in whose case the wish was father to the thought. “And as for _you_,” laying her hand affectionately on his shoulder, “you know you are very fond of her all the time, and that in your heart you are dying to see her; now are you not?” “What would be the good of telling you?” he replied evasively. “At any rate, Alice does not care two straws about me. I know her far better than you do, Helen, wise as you think yourself. I know her _private_ opinion of me; but confidences between married people are sacred,” he added with a bitter smile. “I suppose she knows that I have come home? he asked abruptly after a short silence. “Oh yes; I wrote and told her of your safe arrival.” “And what did she say?” he inquired with unconcealed eagerness. “Well, strange to say, Regy, she never answered my letter. But then, you know,” she added with an awkward laugh, “what a very bad correspondent she is.” “A very bad correspondent as you say,” he replied, with such emphasis that Helen looked at him amazed. “Tell me, Regy, has she never written to you?” she inquired with solemn eyes. “Then to-morrow or next day I shall start for Monkswood,” he observed, coolly ignoring her question. “Do, my dear boy,” returned Helen with effusion; “you don’t know how glad I am to hear you say so. Mark and Geoffrey and I will follow you the end of the week and pay a visit to Alice, which your arrival has somewhat postponed.” “Well, now I suppose I may go to bed?” said Reginald, taking up his candle and looking at his cousin interrogatively. “You have said your say, and carried your point, have you not? I am not at all sure that you are not sending me on a fool’s errand, Helen.”