"Well, well--I see you will compel me to speak. Well, madam, my meaning is very simple. When I say that it is too 'expensive' to unite oneself to a woman solely because that woman has for her portion a great fortune, a large income, every luxury and elegance to endow her husband with--I mean simply that if this woman be uncongenial, if her husband care nothing for her, only her fortune, then that he will necessarily be unhappy, and that unhappiness is cheaply bought with millions. Money only goes a certain way--tell me when it bought a heart! Mine, madam, it will never buy at least--if you will permit me to utter a sentence in such bad taste. And now let us abandon this discussion, which leads us into such serious moods." She turned away, and looked through the window. Two birds were playfully contending in the air, and filling the groves with their joyous carolling. "How free they are!" she murmured. "The birds? Yes, madam, they live in delightful liberty, as we of America will, I trust, some day." "I wonder if they're married," said Philippa laughing, and refusing to enter upon the wrongs of England toward the colonies; "they are fighting, I believe, and thus I presume they are united in marriage--by some parson Crow!" Mowbray only smiled slightly, and looked at his watch. "What! not going!" cried Philippa. "Pardon," he said; "I just rode out for an hour. We have a lecture in half an hour." "And you prefer the excellent Dr. Small or some other reverend gentleman to myself--the collegiate to the sylvan, the male to the female lecturer?" He smiled wearily. "Our duties are becoming more exacting," he said; "the examination is approaching." "I should suppose so--you have not been to see me for a whole week." A flush passed over Mowbray's brow; then it became as pale as before. "Our acquaintance has not been an extended one," he said; "I could not intrude upon your society." "Intrude!" And abandoning completely her laughing cynical manner, Philippa gave him a look which made him tremble. Why was that excitement? Because he thought he had fathomed her; because he had convinced himself that she was a coquette, amusing herself at his expense; because he saw all his dreams, his illusions, his hopes pass away with the fleeting minutes. He replied simply: "Yes, madam--even now I fear I am trespassing upon your time; you probably await my departure to betake yourself to your morning's amusement. I was foolish enough to imagine that I had not completely lost my powers of conversation, buried as I have been in books. I was mistaken--I no longer jest--I am a poor companion. Then," he added, "we are so uncongenial--at least this morning. I will come some day when I am gay, and you sad--then we shall probably approximate in _mood_, and until then farewell."