“In the spiritual sense--and that is all that counts--dissolved,” said Ferdinand. And he could not help adding: “To-day.” Mrs. Watson was breathing quickly... and suddenly she turned and put her head on his shoulder. And yet even as Ferdinand's mind cried “Victory!” he was aware of a strange doubt; for when he attempted to take her in his arms, she put up her hands and prevented a real embrace. He stood in perplexity. He felt that she was shaking with emotion; he heard muffled sounds... she was sobbing and weeping on his shoulder, or... No! It could not be! Yes, the woman was laughing! Joy? Hysteria? What? Suddenly she pushed him away from her, and faced him, controlling her laughter. “Excuse me,” said Mrs. Watson, with the levity he had feared dancing in her eyes, “but such a silly idea occurred to me just as I was about to tell you that I would elope with you... it occurred to me that I had better tell you that all my money is tied up in a trust fund. I can never touch anything but the interest, you know.” “Alethea,” said Ferdinand, chokingly, “such a thought at a time like this is unworthy of both of us!” And he advanced toward her again. But she stopped him. “Just a moment, Ferdinand! I haven't told you all of my silly idea! I wondered also, you know, whether, if we ever got hard up and had to do our own work, you would break my dishes with a wooden stick and twist my arm until I howled!” As Ferdinand slowly took in her words, he felt a sudden recession of vitality. He said nothing, but his knees felt weak, and he sat down on a chair. “Get up!” said Mrs. Watson, with a cold little silver tinkle of a laugh. “I didn't ask you to sit down!” Ferdinand got up. “I don't spy on my neighbours as a rule,” continued Mrs. Watson, “but a little after noon to-day I happened to be standing by this window looking out over the town, and this pair of opera glasses happened to be on the table there and... well, take them, you oaf! You fat fool! And look at that window, down there! It's your own kitchen window!” Ferdinand took them and looked... he was crushed and speechless, and he obeyed mechanically. He dropped the glasses with a gasp. He had not only seen into his own kitchen window, lighted as this one was, but he had seen Nell there... and, as perverse fate would have it, some whim had inspired Nell to take her own opera glasses and look out over the city. She was standing there with them now. Had she seen him a moment before, with Mrs. Watson's head upon his shoulder? He started out. “Wait a moment,” said Mrs. Watson. Ferdinand stopped. He still seemed oddly without volition. It reminded him of what he had heard about certain men suffering from shell shock.