Even in the intoxication of the first few days of married life, George Lauriston had not forgotten his resentment against Rahas, in whom he could not fail to see a subtle enemy to his domestic happiness. On the morning after his marriage he had called at the house in Mary Street, and was not at all surprised to be told by the servant that Mr. Rahas had gone away. He insisted on seeing the elder merchant Fanah, who, however, only confirmed the woman’s statement by saying that his nephew had gone to France on business of the firm. It flashed through George’s mind that this sudden journey abroad might be with the object of visiting Nouna’s mother, with whom it was plain the young merchant had some rather mysterious undertaking; but the next moment he rejected this idea, being more inclined to the opinion that the Countess, for some unknown reason, was anxious to have it believed that she was further off than in truth she was. He next went up to Messrs. Smith and Angelo’s offices, saw the elder partner and laid before him a vigorous remonstrance with Madame di Valdestillas for employing a foreign scoundrel (as George did not scruple to call Rahas) who dared not show his face to the husband, as her messenger to a young wife. The old lawyer listened as passively as usual, and recommended the indignant young officer to write to the Countess on the subject. “And if you will take a word of advice,” ended the old lawyer, his eyes travelling slowly round the sepulchral office as he rubbed his glasses, “write temperately, much more temperately than you have spoken to me. The Condesa is a very passionate woman, and while she is all generosity and sweetness to those she honours with her regard, she is liable to be offended if she is not approached in the right way.” “I don’t care whether she is offended or not,” burst out George, with all the righteous passion of outraged marital dignity, “and her generosity and sweetness are nothing to me. She seems to have a very odd idea of what a husband should be--” At this point Mr. Smith, who was smiling blandly in a corner of the office, drew his mouth in suddenly, with a sort of gasp of horror, which he smothered as his partner’s eyes, without any appearance of hurry or any particular expression in them, rested for a moment on his face. George meanwhile went on without pause,--“if she thinks he will stand any interference between his wife and himself. She has done her best to ruin her daughter by her fantastic bringing up----” “Oh, hush! hush!” interposed Mr. Angelo, while his sensitive partner absolutely writhed as if it were he himself who was being thus scathingly censured. George continued: “But she is quite mistaken if she thinks she can treat her in the same way now. Nouna is my wife, and if I catch any other messenger, black, or white, or grey, humbugging about trying to see her without my knowledge, I’ll horsewhip him within an inch of his life, if he were sent by fifty mothers!”