As Leonard dressed himself he recollected the guard-room quarrel and smiled. It seemed really so ridiculous and ineffectual; yet he resolved to avoid Gilson as much as possible. “The man was drunk,” he thought, “but sober or drunk, he has an envious nature, and a tongue ready for ill words. Perhaps he may seek me out and continue his offensive behavior. What then?” He pondered this likelihood a few moments, and then asked himself cheerfully: “Why should I worry about the probability of such a thing? As if it mattered.” But it is hard to tell what matters, though safe enough to say that in conduct it is best not to make trifles of trifles. For there is an amazing vitality in some trifles, and we know not which may abortively pass and which may become of momentous importance. Yet, for two days Leonard hardly thought of Gilson and his drunken abuse; or if it entered his mind it was only as an annoying and commonplace event that he was in no way responsible for. He had not one fear that it could possibly have any serious effect upon his life. And as it happened the two days following Annette’s dinner party were exceedingly happy ones to Sappha and Leonard. One of them was spent with Madame Bloommaert in Nassau Street, and another with Annette at the Semple house. Then came Saturday, and Leonard went early in the afternoon to the Bowling Green. It was a very warm day, the parlour windows in Judge Bloommaert’s house were open, and Sappha was sitting in the sunshine happily indolent. She smiled a thousand welcomes as he entered, but did not move, for her lap was full of knotted embroidery silks, and Leonard seated himself at her side, and together they began to slowly unravel and sort the tangled skeins. So happy, so merry, were they! their hands touching, their heads touching, light laughter and loving whispers feeding their hearts with a full content. When the judge came home Sappha and Leonard rose gaily to meet him, but they were both chilled by his manner, which was constrained and unfriendly. A sense of something unpleasant swept out of cognisance the innocent mirth that had pervaded the room; and in a moment its mental atmosphere was changed. It was embarrassing, because Leonard did not like to presume there was an offence--it might be only a passing mood, and the mood might be caused by something or by some person outside of their interference. So the suddenly checked lovers sat silent, or only made whispered remarks about the condition of the silks. One of these remarks attracted the judge’s attention, and he turned to the apparently busy young man and said: “Sappha has given you a pretty tangle to straighten out--Leonard.” He spoke Leonard’s name with a hesitation that was almost like a withdrawal of the position that had been given him, and Leonard felt the reluctance keenly, yet he answered with much cheerfulness. “Patience will win her way, sir--she does in every tangle. One by one the knots are being untied.”