'Here, Pluto, take your Proserpine,' said Miss Wendover, trying to make light of the situation, though sore at heart. 'I wish you would be content to keep her six months of the year, and let me have her for the other six.' 'It needn't be an eternal parting, Aunt Betsy,' answered Brian, with assumed cheeriness; 'Ida can come to see you whenever you like, and Ida's husband too, if you will have him. We are not starting for the Antipodes.' 'Be kind to her,' said Miss Wendover, gravely, 'for my sake, if not for her own. It shall be the better for you when I am dead and gone if you make her a happy woman.' This promise from a lady who owned a snug little landed estate, and money in the funds, meant a good deal. Brian grasped his aunt's hand. 'You know that I adore her,' he said. 'I shall be her slave.' 'Be a good husband, honest and true. She doesn't want a slave,' replied Miss Wendover, in her incisive way. Ida flung her arms round that generous friend's neck, and kissed her with passionate fervour. 'God bless you for your goodness to me! God bless you for forgiving me,' she said. 'He is a Being of infinite love and pity, and He will not bless those who cannot pardon,' answered Miss Wendover. 'There, my dear, go and be happy with your young husband. He may not be such a very bad bargain, after all.' This was, as it were, the old shoe thrown after the bride and bridegroom. In another minute the dog-cart was rattling along the lane, Brian driving, and the groom sitting behind with Ida's luggage, which was more important by one neat black trunk than it had been a year ago. Bessie and the younger children were standing on the patch of grass outside The Knoll gates, in garden hats, and no gloves, waving affectionate adieux. Brian gave them no chance of any further leave-taking driving towards the downs at a smart pace. 'Do you remember my driving you to catch the earlier train, a year ago this day?' he asked his pale companion, by way of conversation. 'Yes, perfectly.' 'Odd, isn't it?--exactly one year to-day.' 'Very odd.' And this was about all their discourse till they were at Winchester Station. 'London papers in yet?' asked Brian. 'No, sir. You'll get them at Basingstoke.' He took his wife into a first-class carriage--an extravagance which surprised her, knowing his precarious means. 'I hope you are not travelling first-class on my account,' she said; 'I am not accustomed to such luxury.' 'Oh, we can afford it to-day. I am not quite such a pauper as I was when I offered you those two sovereigns. If you would like to buy yourself a silk gown or a new bonnet, or anything in that line to-day, I can manage it.' 'No, thank you; I have everything I want,' she answered with a faint shiver. The memory of that bygone day was too bitter. 'What a wonderful wife! I thought that to be in want of a new bonnet was a woman's normal condition,' said Brian, trying to be lively.