Deep down in her heart, moreover, poor Myra could not help contrasting her own lot with that of Ralph Denmead’s wife. The little bride was so unfeignedly happy and had such good cause for perfect trust and confidence in her husband that Myra sometimes felt bitterly towards her. Not that Tom Brinton was a bad fellow, there was much about him that was likeable; but the lover of her dreams had ceased to exist, she had settled down into married life that was perhaps as happy as the average but that nevertheless left much to be desired. Her husband would never have dreamt of ill-treating her, indeed in his way he was fond of her still. But it has been well said that unless we are deliberately kind to everyone, we shall often be unconsciously cruel, and it was for lack of this kindly tenderness that Myra’s life was becoming more and more difficult. She used to watch Ralph’s unfailing care and thoughtful considerateness for Evereld with an envy that ate into her very heart. She was jealous moreover with a jealousy that only a woman can understand of the hope of motherhood which began to dawn for Evereld. It seemed to her that everything a woman covets was given to this young wife, who had known so little of the hardness of life, the fierce struggle for success, which had made her own lot so different. And as time went on a sort of morbid sentimentality crept into her admiration for Ralph, and she found herself beginning to hate the sight of Evereld in a way which would have horrified her had she made time to think out the whole state of things. It was at this time that Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes turned to her for advice. He could not by any possibility have chosen a worse confidante. “Why is little Miss Grant always running after the Denmeads?” he complained. “I can never get two words with her. If it’s not the wife she is with, then it’s the husband. I can’t think what she sees in that boy, but whenever he’s in the theatre she’s always talking to him.” “Yes, she is very unguarded,” said Myra with a sigh. “Of course he has known her since she was a child, and he was very good in helping her on when we were in Theophilus Skoot’s company. But she ought to be more careful, for there is no doubt that she was very much in love with him in the old days. You would be doing a good deed if you separated them a little.” She had not in the least intended to say anything of this sort, the words seemed put into her mouth, and somehow when once they were said she vehemently assured herself that she fully believed them. Not only so but she determined to act up to her belief.