ct, but too
good-natured to be aggressive, and living with her two unmarried
daughters, whose sole care was the spiritual and material well-being of
the village poor.

"Where I come from, I really don't know," said Helen to her friend. "My
father was the staidest of country gentlemen. I'm a sport, plainly. You
will see my mother watch me every now and then with apprehension. I
fancy it surprises her that I really do behave myself--that I don't
even say anything shocking. With you, the dear old lady is simply
delighted; I know she prays that I may not harm you. You are the first
respectable acquaintance I have made since my marriage."

In the lovely old garden, in the still meadows, and on the
sheep-cropped hillsides, they had many a long talk. Now that Irene was
as good as married, Mrs. Borisoff used less reserve in speaking of her
private circumstances; she explained the terms on which she stood with
her husband.

"Marriage, my dear girl, is of many kinds; absurd to speak of it as one
and indivisible. There's the marriage of interest, the marriage of
reason, the marriage of love; and each of these classes can be almost
infinitely subdivided. For the majority of folk, I'm quite sure it
would be better not to choose their own husbands and wives, but to
leave it to sensible friends who wish them well. In England, at all
events, they _think_ they marry for love, but that's mere nonsense. Did
you ever know a love match? I never even heard of one, in my little
world. Well," she added, with her roguish smile, "putting yourself out
of the question."

Irene's countenance betrayed a passing inquietude. She had an air of
reflection; averted her eyes; did not speak.

"The average male or female is _never_ in love," pursued Helen. "They
are incapable of it. And in this matter I--_moi qui vous parle_--am
average. At least, I think I am; all evidence goes to prove it, so far.
I married my husband because I thought him the most interesting man I
had ever met. That was eight years ago, when I was two-and-twenty.
Curiously, I didn't try to persuade myself that I was in love; I take
credit for this, my dear! No, it was a marriage of reason. I had money,
which Mr. Borisoff had not. He really liked me, and does still. But we
are reasonable as ever. If we felt obliged to live always together, we
should be very uncomfortable. As it is, I travel for six months when
the humour takes me, and it works _a merveille_. Into my husband's
life