George began to be alarmed. Was she tired of him already? Could she, child as she was, find his caresses irksome within ten hours of her wedding? He tried to persuade himself that it was only his fancy which made her small face look drawn and weary in the warm soft light of the afternoon sun, until he noticed some little puckers about her mouth like the premonitory symptoms of a child’s outburst of tears. “What is it, Nouna, my darling, tell me?” he whispered tenderly. She shook her head feebly, but then, her steadfastness giving way, she put up her lips to his ear, and murmured in a shamefaced broken voice: “I’m so hungry!” “Hungry!” he repeated with a great shock. “Yes,” answered she, beginning to whimper now that the effort was over, and the confession made. “I overslept myself this morning, and had to come away without any breakfast. And I ate all those little tiny sandwiches as soon as I got here, and I’ve had nothing since except stra--awberries!” At this climax of her tale of distress she broke down, and sobbed gently while George picked her up in his arms, and carrying her to the bell, rang violently. “What would you like, my dearest?” he asked, when the landlady, who was a very superior creature indeed, but who felt that a bride was interesting enough to condone the condescension, appeared in person. “Oh, some tea, I should like some tea, and--and anything I can have at once!” “What can my wife have at once?” asked George, with all a young husband’s joy in the words “my wife.” “Well, sir, would she like a chop? Do you think, ma’am, you could fancy a chop?” “Oh, yes, I _should_ like a chop!” cried poor Nouna hungrily, rather to the surprise, even then, of her husband, who was more prepared to hear her ask for the wing of a partridge, or a couple of plovers’ eggs.