“I am afraid not. I remember all my own troubles when I first settled here, and I should like to save Félicia as much as I can. And my husband is the calmest and most reasonable of men. Nothing but deliberate wrong-doing would make him angry, and he bore with my mistakes, and listened to my complaints, and helped me to begin afresh, in the most wonderful way. But Usk is more like me. He gets worried and irritable when he is tried beyond a certain point, and his wife ought to be able to calm him, and not irritate him further. And surely, if she loves him, Félicia would delight to do anything she can to make herself a better wife for him? Think what a joy it would be to him to find her strong and well and able to go about with him when he comes back!” “_If_ she loves him!” repeated Maimie thoughtfully. “Why, certainly--but does she love him, Lady Caerleon?” She seized the opportunity afforded by the entrance of a servant with a note to slip away, leaving her question to do its work. The interruption could not have occurred more suitably for her purpose, and during the next two or three days she managed to avoid all private conversation with Lady Caerleon. At the same time, she was obliged to keep constant watch lest her hostess should seek an interview with Félicia herself. Her manœuvres had hitherto been successful in keeping them apart without Lady Caerleon’s perceiving either the method or the reason; but now, stung by the doubt cast into her mind, she might insist upon a definite explanation. Then, if Félicia made another scene, and succumbed to Lady Caerleon’s motherly kindness, all was lost, and this was likely enough. The monotony of her indoor life, which she obstinately refused to vary by any exercise out of doors, was really telling on her nerves, and she would alarm Maimie by wild outbursts of impatience. She wanted to dance, to flirt, to go to the theatre and lose herself in a play, she wanted to run away--in fact, she was in a state in which she would respond to any stimulus applied to her emotions. Maimie knew very well that the contraband cigarettes were slightly narcotised, and by this means she tried to quiet Félicia’s nerves for the moment, while still keeping her mind on the stretch by vague promises and prophecies, the fulfilment of which depended upon the success of her “plan.” As Maimie had expected, Lady Caerleon came to her, after two or three days of anxiety, for an explanation of her mysterious warning as to Félicia’s feelings. The mother was determined to know the worst. “If Félicia doesn’t care for Usk, you ought to tell me,” she said, “that I may prepare his mind, and not let him go on hoping in vain.” “Well, now, Lady Caerleon,” said Maimie, with the frankness which her hostess found almost more trying than reserve, “I’ll tell you just what I think. I don’t believe Félicia loves your son--at present, but I guess if he came home and asked her, she would marry him right away.”