Grandmamma often told me how her grandfather, the husband of Ambrosine Eustasie, had refused to fight with a man of low birth who had insulted him, but had sent one of his valets to throw the creature into the street, because in those days a gentleman only crossed swords with his equals. I now understood his feelings. I could not quarrel with Augustus, the whole situation was so impossible. I tried to tell myself that it did not in the least matter what he said and did. Then, as he continued abusing me, I repeated a bit of Béranger to myself, and so grew unconscious, at last, of the words he was saying. Silence came eventually, and then, after a while, in quite a humble voice, Augustus said: "I say, little woman--er--you won't tell the mater--er--will you?" Something touched me in his face--his common, unpleasant face. The bluster was gone and there was a piteousness in it. I felt a slight lump in my throat. "Oh no; do not fear," I said. Then he called me an angel and kissed me many times, and that was the worst of all. Oh! When the year is up, will the "monotonous complacency" have set in? V The days are flying by. October has almost come, and the damp and the falling leaves. It will soon be time for Mrs. Gurrage to depart for Bournemouth. Augustus is in a continual ferment, as the report that the rest of the Tilchester Yeomanry are going to volunteer for active service has cropped up frequently, and, while he likes the uniform and what he considers the prestige of belonging to such a corps, he has no ardor for using his weapons against the Boers. I have tried very hard to take an interest in the matter, but the numbness has returned. The oppression of the surroundings at Ledstone cramps my spirit. We have had several "parties"--batches of Gurrage relations--one or two really awful people. And some days ago I was bidden to write and invite the guests for the first big partridge drive. "The mater will be gone to Bournemouth," Augustus said, "and you'll have to stand on your own legs." Matrimony has not cured him of his habit of using horrid phrases. He has often been very rude to me lately, and has taken to going more frequently to town for the day, and stays away for a night or two sometimes. These seem to me as holidays, and I have never thought of asking him where he has been, although he comes back with an apologetic air of a guilty school-boy which ought to excite my jealousy, I feel sure. During these absences his mother looks uneasy and has once or twice asked me if I know where he is. My books have come--quantities of books!--and I spend hours in my boudoir, never lifting my eyes from the pages to be distracted by the glaring, mustard-brocade walls around me.