in the fact that in this boy of twenty, there should still be lurking some fragmentary elements of the woman whose martyrdom and courage he reincarnated. Kingston would not decorate the situation with any romantic glamour; it was a plain, indisputable occurrence, and his whole life should insist on treating it as a matter of course. In his violent resolve to keep the young fellow close at hand there was no sentiment, no idiotic feeling of attachment for the young man himself, or any objectionable nonsense of that kind. The young fellow was of no account at all. Kingston’s wish to secure his continued presence must be put down simply prosaically, solely, to his recognition of the fact that in the boy’s personality the lost Isabel sometimes spoke again, and therefore his company was doubly and trebly desirable; but only for what it conveyed, not in the least for what it was. And, all this being so, Kingston was the more irritated by the instinctive knowledge of the truth that Gundred’s absurd behaviour seemed to hint at, the more bent on resenting it, ignoring it, and, by determination in his own way, crushing out the signs of resistance that she was so vehemently showing. ‘Oh, let’s have no more of this, Gundred,’ he exclaimed. ‘You do not know what you are saying. I am exceedingly sorry to annoy you, but you know you would despise yourself and me if I gave way to such ridiculous nightmares. You will see things quite differently to-morrow. Do try and look at the matter more sensibly.’ ‘Man sends sense,’ cried Gundred, ‘and God sends instincts. Listen to God, Kingston, or you will be sorry for it.’ He shrugged his shoulders cruelly. ‘There is no coping with religious exaltation,’ he answered coldly, with a weary feeling that this woman at his side was quite alien to him in all her thoughts and ways. Gundred rose. ‘If that is what you call it,’ she replied, with more of her habitual dignity, ‘I think there is no more to be said.’ ‘I agree with you. There is nothing more to be said.’ ‘And this young man, Ivor Restormel, he is to come here in a day or two?’ ‘Yes,’ answered Kingston. ‘I settled it all up with him this afternoon.’ ‘And you absolutely refuse to give me what I ask for?’ went on Gundred, returning now, after the heat of the conflict, to the impressive calm of her usual manner. She was preparing a new attack. ‘My dear Gundred,’ answered her husband, more gently now that he saw her more amenable, and therefore more worthy of consideration, ‘I will gladly spend the rest of my life doing what you wish, as long as you ask me for things I can in decency do.’ ‘Ah,’ replied Gundred, ‘that is what people always say. They will do everything in the world to please one, except the only thing one asks them for. _That_ is never reasonable or right.’