Thus it was that Georgie became "lovely Mrs. Haggard." This is what the writers of serious books pompously call "the _secret history_ of the whole matter." Georgie now, to her astonishment, found her movements invariably chronicled in the society journals. It rather annoyed her than otherwise, but her husband was pleased, and that was enough for Georgie. The lazy giant was sprawling on the most comfortable of the sofas; the pair were alone in the dainty little drawing-room. Young Mrs. Haggard's eyes were full of tears. "Won't you take me with you," she sobbed appealingly, "it's only for six months, Reginald?" "I can't, my darling; it's a beast of a climate, and the mosquitos would eat you up. I shall only be away for six months; you know I have made up my mind to get rid of the whole bag of tricks. It's quite true the land can't run away, but there are always rows and revolutions and smashes going on; you can't trust anybody. Of course, Georgie, I should like you to go; but think of the risk. It won't wash at all. We'll stay over Christmas here in England. I suppose I must take you down to see the old man, and then we'll go straight off to Rome, and finish the winter there. I'm getting rather bored, you know, Georgie, with the fuss people make in town. It's deuced fine fun for you of course." The fact was that this excellent husband hated playing second fiddle, and he found, to his astonishment, that young Mrs. Haggard's social success had far eclipsed that of Georgie Warrender. As a good-looking young bachelor, though a detrimental, he had been very popular. As a wealthy _parti_ and a sort of lion he had been the fashion himself the previous season, and to his own knowledge his curly hair and big moustache had caused a quicker beating of the heart in many a female breast. But as Beauty's husband he felt out of his element. "You lucky beggar!" had been repeated to him so often that he hated the phrase. Of course, he still admired his wife as the handsomest woman he had ever clapped eyes upon; he wasn't even jealous of the great attention that Georgie habitually received. First, because he knew he could trust her implicitly; but secondly, and this was far the more powerful reason, because he was too much a man of the world ever to render himself ridiculous. "You know we can have rather a jolly time of it in Rome, Georgie," he said. "You must by this time be as heartily sick of the eternal _tête-à-tête_ as I am. I don't mean that," he said, springing to his feet as he noticed that his young wife shuddered and turned pale; "but the fact is, Georgie, I don't want to be pointed at like poor old Jack Charmington, and I confess, dear," he added with a smile, "that I should like a little more of 'lovely Mrs. Haggard's' society."