“Pride--_no_!” he exclaimed angrily. “I could not dignify it by such a name. You are consumed by a senseless besotted obstinacy, that no doubt you are pleased to consider as such.” “You are, as usual, most flattering,” replied Alice, carelessly fanning herself, considerably but inwardly agitated. “I will take you at your word,” said Sir Reginald in a low but steady voice. “I shall consider your decision _final_--as husband and wife we are strangers. But I had hoped----” and he paused. “What did you hope?” she asked sharply. “Never mind; it is of no consequence _now_,” preparing to withdraw from the window. “Tell me,” she asked, detaining him with a movement of her fan, “did you ever get the photograph of Maurice that I sent you?” “I did,” he replied in an icy tone. “You did!” she echoed. “You really did!” “I did, as I have before remarked, and what then?” looking at her sternly. “Only that you must have also----” Here her answer was cut short by the entrance of Miss Saville and Mary; and Sir Reginald, walking to the other end of the room, remained aloof, looking out of the window till dinner was announced. During this short interval he had time to recover his composure and to collect his thoughts, and there was no trace of anger or agitation in his countenance as he took his seat at the foot of the dinner-table. No one could guess the enormous effort it had cost him to attain such self-command. How strange it looked to see Alice and her husband sitting opposite each other--host and hostess--master and mistress! A man’s voice was an agreeable acquisition to the three trebles, not that one of them was much heard. Sir Reginald had that clear high-bred speech which is so expressively authoritative and yet so musical; he spoke like a man who meant what he said. As to Alice, indifferent and uninterested as she looked, each syllable of those dear familiar tones thrilled her to the heart! Not once during dinner did he directly address her--he did not even look at her so far as she knew. “He is very, very angry with me,” she mused as she made a feint of eating. “But it was better to let him know at once that I am _not_ ‘the patient Griselda!’ When he cools down he will respect me all the more for respecting myself! No doubt I was too hasty, abrupt, and perhaps aggressive. I might have softened it more--but then I never can! I have no tact!” Absorbed in her own reflections, she never observed the signals Miss Saville was making to her; her eyes were steadily fixed on her plate, and her thoughts apparently miles away. “My dear, do you not think that we had better go into the drawing-room?” “I beg your pardon, auntie,” she exclaimed with a start. “Of course.”