Dr. Bryant passed into his study, where indeed he spent the main portion of his days. He was not by nature a sociably inclined man, and since his marriage—only two years earlier—he had not become more sociable. The study grew dearer, the drawing room grew less attractive. Not that he did not love this wife of his—the first he had ever had, though he was not her first husband. He had been thoroughly in love with the winning and graceful widow, who met him always with sweet smiles and engaging looks. And although, after the honeymoon, smiles and engaging looks became more and more rare, he was not a man to change quickly. He loved still, but he no longer enjoyed her society to the same extent as before. Theodosia Wells had married Dr. Bryant, not because she really loved him, though his face and manner had both a certain power over her, but because she lacked the means of livelihood, and because she had a keen eye to the future of her boy, her only child. She would have endured a much worse husband than Dr. Bryant, if thereby she might secure an easy future for Keith. And "endurance" is hardly the word to employ with respect to Dr. Bryant. If endurance really were needed, it was because she failed to appreciate him, not because he failed towards her in either appreciation or duty. How much money Dr. Bryant might possess, Theodosia had not known with any accuracy, in the days when he sought and won her, and perhaps she overestimated the amount. Still she had known him to be comfortably off, and to be free from family burdens. So much the better for Keith. Dr. Bryant had lived in Quarrington Cottage for nearly a quarter of a century, yet Theodosia, had not had the smallest doubt that, when she should become his wife, she would be able to dislodge him. She was not going to be buried in the country. The Cottage must be let or sold, and they would reside in London. Disappointment awaited Theodosia. She found Dr. Bryant yielding and compliant on minor points. Elderly bachelor though he had been, he placed household arrangements in her hands, let her do and manage as she chose, and seldom interfered outside his proper masculine province. But when she began to press for a change of residence, the desire was at once met by resistance. Quarrington Cottage was his home, and in that home, he meant to live and die. "Anything else, but not that," he said, when she urged her wish. "Anything that I don't want, but not what I do!" "My dear, I told you plainly what manner of home I had to offer, and in accepting me, you accepted it. Then was the time to protest; not now." Theodosia did not quickly give up hope. She argued and coaxed, worried and pleaded, sulked and wept, by turns; but all efforts were met by a placid and inviolable determination. Gradually she became convinced that, do and say what she might, here was her home during the term of her husband's life.