Had the Honourable Emily's maid thrown herself at his head he would have known what to do. His sense of the holiness of social degrees would have received no shock. But the Honourable Emily, who could command her maid, could not command what in all probability her maid would not have had to ask twice for. The most she got (when after much that is omitted here, it did at last dawn on the bashful Buck that she had any will in the matter at all) was a blush so sudden and violent that it compelled an embarrassed reddening of her own cheeks also. Buck was not personally outraged. It was his sense of Order that was outraged. He remembered the lady's station for her, and, stammeringly but reverentially, put her back into it. Now to be merely reverential to a woman who is in love with you is to provoke impatience, anger and tears. On the other hand, to see a woman in tears because you will not permit her to humiliate herself is to have the other half of an impossible situation. It was one luncheon-time (the Honourable Emily now lunched frequently at the studio) that the tears came. "Oh, you don't care for me--you don't care for me!" she sobbed. Buck could not truthfully have said that he did care for her; but there she was before him, in tears. "If it were that Dragon girl, now----" Buck, while not failing to see the force of this, could only make imploring movements for the Honourable Emily to calm herself. Presently she did calm herself, sufficiently to change her tone to one of irony. "Do you read your Bible?" she shot over her shoulder. "Yes, miss," said Buck--"that is--I mean----" The reason for Buck's hesitation was that he had suddenly doubted whether the Honourable Emily would know a Racing Calendar by the name she had just used. "Do you mean _The_ Bible, miss?" he said, fidgeting. She snapped: "Yes--the one with the story of Joseph in it----" She burst into tears anew. "Oh, that I should have to beg a man to marry me! I hate myself--I hate you!" Her hatred, however, did not prevent repetitions of the scene. At the last repetition that need trouble us here her tears conquered. The helpless Buck comforted her after the only fashion he knew anything about--the fashion he would have used towards her maid--on his knee. He still, however, called her "Miss." They were privately married in the June of 1869. * * * * * "_Don't_ call me 'Miss'!" she broke out petulantly one day in the middle of the honeymoon. "And you are _not_ to have your meals with the servants! I shall lunch in my room to-day, and you are to be ready to take me out at three o'clock." "Yes, m'm," said Buck. * * * * *