His seemingly absorbed attention had, as a fact, hardly wandered from her for an instant since they met that morning; and the results of his observations were not according to his expectation. So far, she had not merely been pliant, she had seemed grateful for kindness. Of course he knew her to be badly frightened. At the Savoy, for a few minutes, under the influence of gay surroundings and champagne, there had been, as he thought, a glimpse of the real woman--the coquette incarnate. It had vanished, however, the moment he set his heavy hand thereon. Now she sat before him in her Dresden china daintiness, a picture of luxury, carefully tended down to her very finger-nails. While she slept he had perused the features that moved him so vitally--the well remembered breadth of brow and pointedness of chin, the deep setting of the shadowy eyes, the lines of the throat, the base of which rose milky from its setting of misty chiffon. As soon as she stirred, he returned to his blue foolscap. Now she was returning his compliment--studying him. Reluctantly she found that experience was confirming the judgment she had formed instantaneously at Hertford House. She did not like her husband's face, and could hardly say why this was so, since in a virile, somewhat rough-hewn fashion, his features were good. She was just saying to herself, "It is the expression that is wrong; it must be the expression," when he raised his head, met her eyes, and smiled in the way she was learning to dislike. "Well, don't you think I am an ideal husband?" he asked. She answered his smile. "That remains to be seen," she countered. "At least," he said, "I fulfil the one essential condition, don't I? The one thing needful for husbands?" "What is that?" "Why, a long purse, of course." She coloured warmly, and showed, by downcast eye and close-pressed lips, how this wounded. She felt that she had nothing to say in reply, except a low, reproachful, "Oh!" in the shock of such an unkindness. "Not very tactful of me, was it, to taunt you with the amiable weakness which has procured me the lifelong privilege of your society?" "Amiable weakness?" she repeated vaguely. "The woman's desire for physical comforts, luxury, and so on, at any cost." "Oh," murmured Virgie, "I don't think--indeed, I'm sure you don't understand." "No? We must discuss the matter at greater length; but as I told you this morning, I dislike talking in the train. We shall be at Luton in a minute, and I telegraphed for a tea-basket." The train slowed down as he spoke. He rose, leaned from the window, and took the tray from the boy who was waiting on the platform. Virginia poured out the tea, and dispensed the bread and butter and cake with a sinking heart.