There is something not altogether unsuggestive in the fact that John Beacham’s bride was, at that period of her short married life, for ever reminding herself that she “owed everything to John.” It almost seemed as though she were throwing up a line of defence, a formidable battery, to guard against any future attacks upon his peace. He was so really kind to her, not tenderly demonstrative certainly, and anything but sentimental; but she could _trust_ him so entirely. John was never capricious, and rarely hasty or rough of speech; he never “bothered” either about trifles--a delightful negative quality which many wives never appreciate properly till they have experienced the bore of having a womanly, housekeeping kind of helpmate “worrying” about a home, the space and means of which are necessarily limited. That John Beacham was all, and more than all, this, Honor was constantly repeating to herself. Perhaps--it was more than likely--she was anxious to hide, under this heap of estimable qualities, the aggravation of some of poor John’s trifling defects of _manner_, his few uncourtly habits, his sometimes ill-pronounced words. Be this as it may, Honor betrayed no sign, even to herself, that she would have desired any change in one so excellent and unselfish as her husband; it is even probable that, had not the peccant places been pointed by force of contrast, she would have found little to regret in John’s cheery voice and genial, though untutored, manners. One great pleasure--_the_ pleasure of which Honor had spoken with such girlish glee to Arthur Vavasour--that, namely, of riding on horseback--had been without loss of time vouchsafed to the breeder’s wife. She had a “wonderful figure for a horse” he had said from the first, and when to that was added the conviction that, though she had not been in the “saddle from a child,” his wife’s seat and hand were perfect, John’s delight was extreme. The “teaching” proved a comparatively easy matter; Lady Meg was quiet as a lamb; and very soon (for John was often too busy to accompany her) Honor was trusted on horseback, with only a small farm-boy as attendant, to take her equestrian pleasure where she chose. The only individual to whom this new state of affairs gave any umbrage was old Mrs. Beacham, who, when John did not happen to be present, grew very bitter on the subject of Honor’s favourite pleasure. “It’s more than I ever had--and I a Yorkshire-woman born--is a horse of my own,” she said one day to Honor, as the latter stood waiting for Lady Meg, and looking very pretty and graceful at the window, her long green habit trailing on the floor, and her gauntleted hand (John had _got her up_ beautifully) playing with her little dandified whip. “I wonder John can allow of such a thing as your riding about the country in this way. Things _have_ got turned upside down with a vengeance since I was young.”