The words sprang to her lips in such haste that she could not stay them. She repented them bitterly, for she realized at once that they might lead to disaster for Agatha, who might refuse to ask her again to visit her; who might, rendered brave by jealousy, oppose her husband’s wish, who might, in a moment of anger, give her reason for so doing, thereby perhaps making an inevitable breach in her married happiness. But the words being said, any attempt to withdraw them might stimulate dangerous questioning on his part. “When Aggy asks you!” he answered, throwing his head up and laughing gayly. “Well, you may as well not go away at all, then. Does she know you’re going to-morrow?” “I told her yesterday.” “Funny she didn’t tell me. What did _she_ say?” “Asked me to stay.” “There you are!” She bit her lip and looked away from him, but he could see the expression of trouble that was upon her face, and felt compunction at having so over-eagerly pressed her. “What an obstinate tease I am!” he said. “When I can’t have my own way, I’ve a beastly habit of plugging away till I get it, quite forgetting what it may cost the other chap to give it. What a clumsy boor you must think me; I deserve to be kicked. I ought to know well enough that you always have a real reason for what you do.” She dared not reply, for fear her voice would betray her. When they reached the hotel he went up to his wife’s room, hoping to find her physically better, and less querulous for her rest. She was lying on the bed, covered with a thick eider-down quilt, and turned slowly to look at him as he came in tiptoe. “I was just going to sleep, and now you’ve roused me up,” she complained, and turned away again. “I’m so sorry, dearie; it was clumsy of me,” he said, going round the bed, and sitting down on the side. He took her hand, which she let lie passively in his. “Don’t feel any better?” he asked. “My head’s not aching so much, at least not quite.” “That’s fine. ‘Once on the mend, soon at an end.’” “Where did you walk?” “Just along the front with Alice, nearly to Hove. The wind’s jolly cold.” “Jolly? It’s horrid; Brighton’s horrid: too cold to go out, and the hotel is so stuffy.” “Is it? I hadn’t noticed it. But I do wish you would go out more. You know what the doctor said—lots of fresh air.” “But he didn’t tell me to go out when it was so cold it gave me neuralgia all over my head.” “Let me ring and we’ll have tea up here. It’ll cheer you up.” “I do wish you wouldn’t always treat me like a child!” she said pettishly; “so long as you give me pretty things or feed me with sweets you think I’m happy.” “Aren’t you happy, dear?” “No, I’m not!” she answered sharply. “Not?” he repeated, as he stood up and started to walk about the room. “I thought you were, dear. What can I do? I’ve always tried my best to give you what you wanted.” “Please don’t walk about like that, you don’t know what a headache is. You—don’t understand things.”