Aged twenty-eight, with a sunburnt face, a fair moustache, merry blue eyes and a stalwart figure, Sir Guy was certainly a very handsome young man, the very type of a well-born, well-bred Englishman, and a greater contrast to his lusty physique could hardly have been found than that of his wife, with her fragile frame, her pale serious face, and smooth coils of lustrous golden hair. In her loose tea-gown of dead white Chinese silk unrelieved by any tint, she looked almost as wan and colourless as the perfumed knot of snowy lilies at her breast, and the great fan of white ostrich feathers she wielded in her slender hand was rivalled by the pallor of her face. The dreaming look in her calm, blue eyes, the slight droop of the thin red lips which gave a touch of sadness to her mobile mouth, and the exquisite transparency of her complexion, all added to the fragile look of this fair pale woman, whose spirituality was enhanced by the faint shadows which now began to fill the warm air. Guy Errington, sturdy and practical, did not as a rule indulge in any fanciful musings, but something in the peculiar delicacy of her expression seemed to strike him suddenly, and throwing away his cigarette he bent over his pale wife with an air of the utmost solicitude. "I hope you have not felt the heat too much, dear," he said, anxiously touching the faint rose tint of her cheek with a gentle finger, "you look as white as a ghost." Lady Errington smiled languidly and put her fan up to her lips with a low laugh. "I'm afraid I must be a very deceptive person," she replied lightly, "for I feel perfectly well. I am always pale, and I obtain a great deal of undeserved sympathy under false pretences." "Do you mind my smoking?" "Not in the least. Why did you throw away your cigarette?" "I thought it annoyed you." His wife looked at him with a slightly mocking smile on her lips. "I wonder if you will always be so ready to sacrifice your pleasures to my unexpressed desires." "Always! always!" replied Guy fervently, kneeling beside her chair. "Your slightest wish will always be my law, Alizon." "Till the honeymoon is over, I suppose," said Alizon a trifle sadly, as she passed her fingers through his hair. "I'm afraid the honeymoon is over--in the eyes of the world at least," responded Errington ruefully. "We've been three months married, you know, and to-day is our last one of solitude, for Eustace and his friend will soon be here--are you sorry?" "Oh, yes, very sorry," she replied, indifferently, suppressing a yawn; "these last three months have been charming."