‘I am very glad to hear she is so happy,’ pursued Edward, with an air of ineffable good nature. ‘Thank heaven, I have quite got over my old weakness about her, and can contemplate her happiness without a twinge of jealousy. But at the same time I do rather wonder that she can be thoroughly happy with a man of whose antecedents she knows nothing.’ ‘How can you say that, Ted? She knows who he is, and what he is. She knows that he was a lieutenant in a crack regiment, and sold out because he had run through his money----’ ‘Sold out just seven years ago,’ interrupted Edward. ‘What has he been doing with himself in the meantime?’ ‘Knocking about London.’ ‘That is a very vague phrase. Seven years! He must have earned his living somehow during the greater part of that time. The money he got for his commission would not last him long. He must have had his own particular circle of acquaintances during that interval. Why are none of them forthcoming? Why is he so silent about the experiences of those seven years? Man is an egotistical animal, my dear Celia. Be sure that there is always something to be ashamed of when a man keeps silence about himself.’ ‘There is something rather odd about that, certainly,’ assented Celia, in a musing tone. ‘John Treverton never talks of his past life, or, at any rate, of the time that has gone by since he left the army. I suppose he has been in London all the time, for he talks as if he were awfully disgusted with London life. If I were Laura I should insist upon knowing all about it.’ ‘There can be no happiness between man and wife without perfect confidence,’ said Edward. ‘No enduring happiness, at least.’ ‘Poor, dear Laura,’ sighed Celia. ‘I always said it was an ill-omened marriage; but lately I have thought that I was going to turn out a false prophet.’ ‘Has she ever told you what took her husband away after their marriage?’ ‘No, on that point she has been as silent as the grave. She told me once that he had been to Buenos Ayres, called away on business. I have never been able to extort anything more out of her.’ ‘It must have been a curious kind of business which called a man away from his newly-wedded wife,’ said Edward. Celia nodded significantly, and looked at the fire. She loved Laura well, but she loved scandal better. Edward gave a short, impatient sigh, and turned his head fretfully upon the cushion which maternal hands had worked in softest wool. That movement, expressive of disgust with life in general, did not escape the sharp eyes of his sister. ‘Ted, dear, I’m afraid you have not left off being unhappy about Laura,’ she murmured, sympathetically. ‘I am only unhappy about her when I think she is married to a scoundrel.’ ‘Oh, Ted, how can you say such a thing?’