George Lauriston hurried out of the church, and turned towards his home still in the heat of a first impulse of passionate anger against Madame di Valdestillas and Mr. Smith for inciting his wife to deceive him; but as he walked and reason began to form a crust over the still flowing stream of passion, he resolved that he would not reproach his wife with this new concealment until he had accused her instigators, and learnt from them the meaning of it. With this decision fresh made, he forbore to enter his house until he should have recovered enough equanimity not to repel his wife by a fresh aspect of suspicion, and he was in the act of turning back within a few feet of the door, when a hansom drove up and Lord Florencecourt jumped out of it. Catching sight of George, he paid the cabman, and came up to him with a face in which the younger man fancied he perceived less of constraint and more of the old frank friendliness than he had seen there since his marriage. In fact, the Colonel felt that the first of the barriers between them, that of concealment, was now broken down, and he began to breast his difficulties more manfully with the certainty that he was “in for it.” “I came down by the next train, George,” he said simply; “I thought when that infernal black woman let out on me, we had better come to an understanding at once and have done with it.” “Much better, I should think, Lord Florencecourt,” said Lauriston rather bitterly. “It would have been better if Nouna and I had been fairly dealt with from the first, and not forced to begin our life together in this smothering fog of mystery, deceived a little bit by everybody, and obliged to get every scrap of knowledge about our own circumstances by fighting for it.” The Colonel dug his stick into the ground and avoided meeting his eyes. “You have heard Sundran’s story, I suppose?” “Not yet.” “Well, well, it’s not all my fault,” said he. “An indiscretion involving a lady now, you know, er--moving in society--you see, one has not only oneself to consider.” His manner had suddenly become confused, incoherent, tentative, utterly unlike his usual soldierly abruptness. He seemed to be drawing back from his first open and friendly impulse, and to be more anxious for some exposition of his companion’s sentiments than for an opportunity of expressing his own. George was quite ready to take up the challenge. “An indiscretion, Colonel! It seems to have been a serious one. My wife signed her name at our wedding as Nouna Kilmorna.” The Colonel started, taken quite off his guard. “The d----l she did!” After a pause, he added: “Then, by Jove, she must know---- Oh, these women, these women, there’s no making a contract with them! They wriggle out of the terms of it like eels.” “You are speaking of her mother?” “Yes, confound her!”