I dare say it's a funny thing to be in love with your wife. I don't know. It's not too common a form of humour. And perhaps I'm not a judge of what is comical. But I'm glad that I'm in love with mine. I'm glad that she's my sweetheart--although she is my wife. The exigencies of a life which is not entirely commonplace prevent my devoting so much time as I could wish to my domestic duties, but this I may safely say, that however far away from each other we may be, the consciousness that my wife is my wife is ever with me; and the knowledge fills me with that complete content which makes me equal to any fortune. After tea we had a romp with the children. I helped to bathe and put them to bed. And when they'd gone, and we'd told each other love tales by the fire, we, too, went up to rest. On the way we went into the youngsters' room, and stood side by side, looking down upon them as they slept. 'Don't you think,' asked Mary, 'that Pollie's pretty?' 'Well,' I said,' she's a little bit like you.' She pressed my arm. 'Jimmy's just your image.' 'Poor lad!' 'James! How can you talk like that? Can anything be better for him than to be like his father?' 'There are better men.' 'I don't know where. Nor any a hundredth part as good. I can't imagine why you don't think more of yourself--when you're the most wonderful man in the world.' This assertion caused me furiously to think. 'Mary, I shouldn't be surprised but what you're right.' 'I'm sure I'm right.' 'I also have an inclination to be sure. I must be the most wonderful man in the world, because I've you.' 'James!' The rest is silence ... What does that writing fellow say about 'Sweet music, long drawn out'? Is there any music like the silent pressure of a woman's lips? After all, there's something in being in love with your wife. CHAPTER XXV A REVERSION FROM THE IDYLLIC Mr. Gayer met me in the hall. 'A gentleman, my lord, wishes to see you.' He spoke in a half-whisper, as if he was afraid of being overheard. There was something in his face I didn't understand. 'A gentleman? What gentleman?' Gayer came closer. 'Mr. Acrodato. We told him your lordship wasn't at home, and tried to keep him out, but he made so much disturbance we thought we'd better let him in. He's been walking all over the house, and behaving very badly.' As Gayer imparted his information, with an air half of deprecation, half of mystery, there came through the dining-room door a gentleman. He was big. His huge beard and mop of hair were tinged with grey; his top hat was on the back of his head; his hands were in the pockets of his unbuttoned overcoat. He surveyed me with a look which did not suggest respect, speaking in accents which were not exactly gentle. 'So you've come.--Well?'