The happy pair stayed at Caddenabia on Como, and then moved on to Baveno on Maggiore; here they boated, went for drives, and enjoyed their _tête-à-tête_ meals in solitary dignity, and here, alas! the sole company of his wife palled upon Blagdon. What topics had they in common? How could he talk to a girl who had never been to a play, or to a race meeting, had never read a naughty book, or heard even a whisper of notorious scandals? He soon found his way to the billiard and smoking-rooms, and during two hopelessly wet days, when there was a lack of English papers and appreciative society, his bad humour, undisguised and unashamed, was vented on his valet and Letty. To the hardened servant, a rating was as the proverbial water running off a duck’s back! but to the unaccustomed and trembling girl, it proved a terrible awakening. One evening, the condescending Miss Tucker was surprised to find her mistress crouched at her bedroom window the impersonation of misery and despair. “So they had had a falling out already! Well, it _was_ early days.” In spite of prolonged bathing of her eyes, and a justifiable amount of powder, there were still traces of recent trouble when the bride appeared at dinner. Fortunately the newspapers had arrived, and during the meal her husband--to the astonishment of polite Italian waiters--read them at intervals between the courses; whilst his companion sat opposite, with dry lips, and a deadly sickness at her heart. The following morning Blagdon abruptly announced that “he had had enough of loafing, and it was time to set their faces towards home.” On their way thither, they stopped in Paris, and put up at the Hôtel Riche, and here, to Hugo’s joy, he encountered Sir Billy and Lady Slater, Mrs. Freddy Corbett, and Lord Robbie; a loud-voiced, cheery quartette, who were returning tardily from Monte Carlo. He presented them to his wife, and subsequently entertained them at a magnificent dinner, at which the bride presided. Poor girl! she was hopelessly out of her element; although she did her utmost to conceal her embarrassment, and talk and identify herself with these, her first guests. For their part, the company were dumbfounded by her youth and simplicity, her shyness, and pathetic ignorance of Life. Oh, she was pretty enough, they agreed; there was no mistake about her looks and air of breeding; but she was not the ‘right sort of wife for Blag!’ No, he had backed the wrong one this time, “made a bad cast,” said Lord Robbie to himself, and as he glanced from the host to the hostess, he seemed already to catch sight of an impending disaster.