It would seem that John was not altogether unaware of this trifling peculiarity, for during breakfast-time he was seen to _wink_ more than once with an air of comic warning to Honor, as much as to say, “Take no notice; this is but a passing shower, the looming of a summer cloud; the slightest possible crumpling of the tender roses with which our bed is strewn.” He was quite in the dark--Honor understood that well--as to the real state of things between her and his mother. He had yet to discover that, during his long daily absences, although no overt act, no _words_ even of which she could actually complain, had made her life uncomfortable, still there was an undercurrent of “nagging,” a perpetual though not always a very perceptible “talking at,” on the old lady’s part, which was far harder to endure patiently than the open harshness of language which Honor felt certain that John’s mother was often longing to attack her with. The first Sunday at the Paddocks having been a hopelessly rainy day, there had been no walking along the lanes to attend Divine Service: the Seventh day had, however, now come round again, and the shy consciousness of early wifehood having a little worn off, Honor, as was only natural, had allowed her thoughts to wander to a no less important subject than the dress in which, at Switcham Church, she was to make her first appearance as a wife. The result of these meditations, and also--if the truth must be told--of a little stitching and altering, was as pretty a specimen of Sabbath-day adornment as ever entered the walls of a village church. And yet there was nothing (bright as a spring butterfly though she looked) the least over-dressed, or unbecoming her situation in life, in Honor Beacham’s attire. There were no incongruities, no single article of dress outshone or put shame upon the other, there had been no “trimming of robe of frieze with copper-lace;” but all was neat, effective, and, so far as Honor and the Leigh dressmaker together could achieve the desired object, according to the make and fashion of the day. “Now then, Honey, let’s have a good look at you,” exclaimed John, as, five minutes before the moment appointed for setting forth, his wife, with a blush of gratified vanity on her cheek (for the glass had told her she was worth the looking at), tripped confidently up to him for approval. Before he could speak, however, Mrs. Beacham’s harsh voice broke the charm, and John’s complimentary words were frozen on his lips.