"That is the reason," said Kingsley. "My dear, I trust you implicitly, and I am satisfied that you have said exactly what is right--with one exception. You have spoken too highly of your husband. Don't shake your head, I know it. You have an exaggerated opinion of me, or, to phrase it better, you have formed an ideal which will not bear the test of sober truth. But that, dear little wife, is the fate of most ideals." "What you say," observed Nansie, "will apply with equal truth to your opinion of me." "Not at all," said Kingsley, with fond seriousness, "you stand away and apart from me--higher, nobler, more capable. I will not listen to any contradiction, my dear, when I am discussing _you_. The fact is, I have already applied the test." "In what way, Kingsley?" asked Nansie. She was learning that it was best to humor him in certain moods, which it seemed impossible for him to avoid. "In this. Of course, when I first saw you I formed my ideal of you. What it was, I think you know to some small extent, for the love I feel and express for you is no idle sentiment. Whatever else I may be, I am at least as true as steel to you. It is one virtue I may fairly claim, for nothing which is inspired by you can be anything else. Well, knowing you but slightly, my ideal was formed, and familiar association would either destroy or establish it. My dear, I have questioned myself, I have asked: 'Does Nansie come up to your ideal? Is she the true woman you supposed her to be? Does she represent what you believed--the sweetness, the purity, the nobility, the tenderness which have sanctified the very name of woman?' The answer is: 'She is all, and more than all, you believed her to be. There is nothing in her that is not sweet, and true, and good. The ideal you set up falls short of the reality.' Then, on the other hand, is the question of Me. I do not wish to disturb you, my dear, but I fear a terrible disappointment awaits you when you have found me out. No, I will not allow you to answer me. You may stand up in my defence when I am not present, but my imperfections are too apparent--now that I am brought face to face with them--to encourage any attempt to smooth them away. However, we are bound to each other for better or worse, and you must make the best of me. Now address your letter to your uncle, and I will post it for you." "Shall I give him your love, Kingsley?" asked Nansie, adding hurriedly, "you are very unjust to yourself." "Yes, dear, give him my love, and say that I hope to make his acquaintance one day. As to being unjust to myself, I know I am the best judge of that." He went from the room, and in a few minutes presented himself again, gloved and polished, a faithful presentment of a young English gentleman. "You must wish me luck, Nansie," he said. "I am going to see what can be done in the way of obtaining a situation. Perhaps something fortunate will turn up."