“Oh, pray don’t expect me to be sentimental. There’s nothing I hate so much. Egypt may be all very well for those who like it, and to play Darby and Joan may be a very nice way of spending one’s time before twenty-five and after fifty-five. But the years between those ages are better filled one’s own way; and I can assure you that, if you are leading Sir Robert to believe that he will find me a pleasant travelling companion, you are making a sad mistake.” The acerbity of her tones frightened Rhoda, who would fain have believed the breach between husband and wife to be less wide than it really was. She said nothing to this. Lady Sarah looked at her keenly. She did not want to quarrel with Rhoda, who knew too much to be treated anything but well. “You are a dear creature,” she said suddenly, as Rhoda said nothing to her tirade, “but I really do wish you would confine yourself to being sweet to Caryl, and nice to Sir Robert, and that you wouldn’t try to make silk out of spiders’ webs. That is what your labour is, when you try to make a humdrum domestic animal of an insignificant insect like me.” She laughed lightly, and said no more about it. But Rhoda saw, as Lady Sarah flitted across to the piano and began to play lively music with her usual disregard of time and liberal allowance of wrong notes, that she meant mischief. Minnie was a silent spectator of this scene, although perhaps, being curled up in an awkward position in a sofa at the far end of the drawing-room, she did not hear all that the ladies said. No sooner did the gentlemen come in than Lady Sarah sprang up from the piano with a light in her eyes, and going straight to her husband led him out into the conservatory, and thence through the library into the study, where she stood up in front of him with her hands behind her, and challenged him fiercely. “Who put this silly Egypt idea into your head, tell me that?” she asked imperiously, looking up with flashing brown eyes into his grave face. It was still much graver than usual, by the way. “What does it matter how the idea came to me,” said he gently, “if it be a good one?” “But it isn’t. It’s a very bad one indeed,” said she hotly. “The absurdity of your giving up your cosy home which you love, to travel about with me! When you know very well I can take care of myself.” Then he spoke with a sudden change of manner that silenced and alarmed her. “My dear,” he said, as he held her arm in a grip which made it impossible for her to think of escape, “that is just what I am asking myself: whether you can take care of yourself, such care as my darling wife ought to take.” “What--do you mean?” panted out the beauty, in sudden terror.