“Anything?” he asked, throwing as much meaning into the word as the human voice was capable of expressing; but Honor, who was far as the poles from comprehending the evil that was in his thoughts, said eagerly, “Indeed yes! anything! I would be a governess--you know I was a governess before--I would go out to service--be a ‘Lydia,’” and she smiled a little bitterly, “if I could only never, never see Mrs. Beacham’s face again.” An expression which she took for amusement, but which was in reality indicative of very unholy triumph, passed over Arthur Vavasour’s dark, handsome face. “Don’t laugh at me,” Honor said plaintively. “You _can_ have no idea how hard it is to live with John’s mother. Nothing I do is right, and--and,” in a lower voice, “I know she sets him against me. She has written to tell me that I must go home to-day; but my father says I am to lay our not going upon him, so here I shall stay! I know I shall be in a dreadful scrape, and that it is only a case of putting off, and--” “But why _only_ a case of putting off, as you call it? My darling Honor--forgive me; the words slipt out unawares--you know I would not offend you willingly; but the best as well as the worst men are liable to mistakes. Only tell me why you, so young, so beautiful, so formed for the enjoyment of everything that is bright and happy, should be condemned to pass your days in such an existence as the one you describe at the Paddocks? It has always seemed to me,” he went on, leaning towards her, and looking with eyes of eager passion into her face--“it has always seemed to me an act of the most miserable folly for people--married people--who do not _suit_, remaining together: _both_ would often be equally glad to part, to go their respective ways, to live another and a more congenial life; and yet from some foolish unreasoning scruple, from fear of what the world would say, or from want of courage to take the first step, they go on through all their lives, making each other’s existence a burden, ‘when both might separately have been as happy’ as we are any of us fated to be in this ill-managed world of ours, where happiness is so rare a thing.” Honor glanced at him with rather a puzzled look in her blue eyes. Strange as it may seem, she did not even now comprehend his meaning. That he was advising her to leave her home was too plain to be mistaken, but that there was to be sin--sin, that is to say, greater than that which she could not but feel would be incurred by deserting her husband and her duties--never occurred to this poor foolish child of nature. But although she did not comprehend, and could not fathom, the depths of her false friend’s guilt, yet her womanly instinct led her to evade the responding to his suggestion. His last words also, and the tone of sadness in which they were spoken, riveted her attention, and, catching almost gladly at an excuse for changing the conversation, she said sympathisingly,