I had known her only a short time before I proposed, and was accepted. Our engagement was of but a few weeks' duration, and during our courtship I observed nothing in Barbara's manner to disturb me. No one warned me; no friend bade me pause before I bound myself irrevocably to a woman who was to be my ruin. Occasionally her face was rather flushed, and she was eager and nervous, which I ascribed to the excitement of our engagement. Her sparkling eyes, her rapid speech, the occasional trembling of her hands--all this I set down to love. She confided to me that she had no fortune, and that she had thought of seeking employment as a governess or as a companion to a lady. She possessed great gifts, which, of course, I magnified; she was a good musician, could speak French, German and Italian fluently, and sang to me in those languages with a rich contralto voice. "Had it not been for you," she said, "I might even have got into the chorus at the opera." "Is not this better?" I asked, embracing her. "Much better," she replied, returning my embrace. She was a handsome woman, dark, tall, and commanding, and her nearest relative was a half-brother, Maxwell, much older than she, for whom I had no special liking. Naturally, after I had drawn from Barbara an avowal of her love, I addressed myself to him. He stood towards her in the light of a guardian, and she was living in his house. In reply to his questions I was very candid as to my worldly position and prospects, and he professed himself satisfied; but I remembered afterwards that when I came courting his sister he would look at me with an expression of amusement on his features, as though he was enjoying a joke he was keeping to himself. He was in the habit of boasting that he was a man of the world, and knew every trick on the board. It was chiefly at his urging that the marriage was precipitated. "Long engagements are a mistake," he said. "Don't you think so?" I replied that I was entirely of his opinion. "That simplifies matters," he said, "because I am going abroad. I shall not take a sister with me, you may depend upon that." It was a plain hint, and the wedding day was fixed. Soon after this, when I called to do my wooing, he told me that Barbara was not well enough to see me. "She has a frightful headache," he said, "and is not in a condition to see anybody." I was much distressed, and I asked if she had a doctor. "Not necessary," he said. "She will get over it. When she is in that state best leave her alone, old fellow. There's a hint for you in your matrimonial campaign. Barbara hates the sight of doctors; she is a delicate creature, very highly strung, something of the full-blooded racer about her, the kind of woman that requires managing." "I shall be able to manage her," I said confidently. "I should think you would," he said, with a mocking smile. "Barbara and you are going to have a high old time of it. By the way, can you lend me a tenner for a few days?"