"Oh, a doll! Insignificant creature, with washed-out colouring. Not even good looking. Heavy and dull; not a word to say." The Chief sighed. "That," he said slowly, "is the end of Lowther! The man is doomed." During the weeks of the honeymoon Hereward Lowther's thoughts were exercised with a problem which, it is to be hoped, presents no difficulty to the average bridegroom. "_Why had he married his wife_?" During the few months which had elapsed since his introduction to Lilith Wastneys, Lowther had been conscious of a reluctant admiration, which was strangely akin to antipathy. There had been occasions when he had definitely decided that he disliked the girl, yet the decision had no mitigating effect on his desire to see her again at the earliest possible moment. But he was certain, looking back over the time from the first meeting on the golf links, to that last evening in the palm-shaded retreat at the ball, he was definitely, absolutely, certain that the idea of marriage had never entered his head. How, then, had he become engaged? How had it happened that he left that ball pledged to live side by side with this strange, silent girl, till death did them part? Honestly, Hereward did not know. There had been a flirtation, of course, if such a demure, well-conducted affair could be called a flirtation. The girl had looked unusually feminine and attractive in the dim light, and, this was the crux!--_she had seemed to expect it_. Some power of expectancy had driven him on until he had spoken the fateful words, for in these days of languor and depression, Lowther had lost the power of resistance, and the easiest course seemed invariably the best. He was conscious of his own demoralisation, but the misery of the consciousness had no vivifying effect; it rather drove him back to his drugs. So in this instance he had drifted on, and in a moment's weakness had sacrificed his freedom. Yes! that was what it came to; that was the disgraceful fact. He had married this girl because she had desired it, and he was too lazy to resist. Lowther acknowledged the fact with a shrug, but immediately afterwards arose a second problem, hardly less incomprehensible than the first. _Why had Lilith married him_? She did not love him. The man had soon recognised that fact, and it had brought an unexpected stab of pain. If she had loved him, as some women can love, she might have--helped! But she was cold as ice. Even his own lukewarm endearments had proved unacceptable; there was evidently no personal attraction to explain the mystery of her marriage with a man who was an historic failure. They had been married a week, and were sitting in the garden of a foreign hotel, discussing a possible excursion, when Lilith startled her husband by a sudden question. Her voice, as she spoke, was low and unperturbed; her face showed a gentle smile, nevertheless that question smote upon Lowther's ears like the crack of a whip.