“Dear Frogmore,” said Mary in a slightly injured tone. “I cannot imagine what you mean when you say our life has not been cloudless. It sounds as if you were disappointed in me--for to me it has been like one long summer day!” “My poor dear--my poor dear!” he said, feebly caressing the hand that held his own. “Not your poor dear! I have been a happy woman--far more happy than I could ever have looked for--but I mean to continue to be so,” she added with a little nod of her head which was almost coquettish. “I haven’t the least intention of talking of it as if it were in the past.” Behind Lady Frogmore in the distance of the large room was someone who looked little more than a shadow, but who took a step forward when the conversation came to this point, and made a warning gesture to the old lord over his wife’s head. Lord Frogmore replied with an impatient twitch of his eyebrows and resumed: “I don’t want to vex you, my love--but life’s very uncertain for the best of us. It’s hard to tell what a day is to bring forth. I never thought this morning that I should be so happy as to have you with me, Mary, to-night.” “No,” she said, “how wrong it was of them not to tell me; of course, the moment I was told I came away at once. But you must have known that I would come as soon as I knew that you wanted me, Frogmore.” “Yes,” he said, with his kind, indulgent smile. “I ought to have known that. At all events, my dear, here you are at last.” “At last! he talks,” said Mary with a laugh, as if appealing to some one, “as if I had been years away.” The poor old lord patted her hand with his feverish fingers. There was something piteous in the contrast between his serious anxiety and the light-hearted confidence in her tone. “Well,” he said after a time, “my love--to return to what we were saying. I needn’t tell you, Mary, the chief subject I am concerned about--the bringing up of little Mar. You can’t think,” he said after a pause with a little fervor, “what that baby has been to me while you’ve been away.” “What baby?” she said, almost with a look of offence, drawing away her hand. “I am surprised, Frogmore, that you should want anyone to take my place for--such a short time.” “To take your place?” he said, “oh, no; but to wait for you along with me: for to whom else could it be of so much importance, next to me--and who could comfort me like him, Mary! You must be strong now for Mar’s sake.” “I don’t know what you mean, Frogmore,” she said, her color changing. “It is impossible to me to make out what you mean. You seem to speak in riddles. I don’t know who this child is you have taken such a fancy to. But you mustn’t expect me to follow you in that. I will do anything for your sake, dear, but to give myself up to a strange child whom I know nothing about----” “Whom you know nothing about! Oh, Mary, my poor Mary,” he cried.