usual; and the meal proceeded partly in silence; an interchanged word,
civil on the surface, passing now and then. The dowager thoroughly
entered into her breakfast, and had little leisure for anything else.

"What makes you take nothing?" she asked, perceiving at length that he
had only a piece of toast on his plate, and was playing with that.

"I have no appetite."

"Have you left off taking breakfast?"

"To a great extent."

"What's the matter with you?"

Lord Hartledon slightly raised his eyebrows. "One can't eat much in the
heat of summer."

"Heat of summer! it's nothing more than autumn now. And you are as thin
as a weasel. Try some of that excellent raised pie."

"Pray let my appetite alone, Lady Kirton. If I wanted anything I should
take it."

"Let you alone! yes, of course! You don't want it noticed that you are
out of sorts," snapped the dowager. "Oh, _I_ know the signs. You've been
raking about London--that's what you've been at."

The "raking about London" presented so complete a contrast to the lonely
life he had really passed, that Hartledon smiled in very bitterness. And
the smile incensed the dowager, for she misunderstood it.

"It's early days to begin! I don't think you ought to have married
Maude."

"I don't think I ought."

She did not expect the rejoinder, and dropped her knife and fork. "Why
_did_ you marry her?"

"Perhaps you can tell that better than I."

The countess-dowager pushed up her hair.

"Are you going to throw off the mask outright, and become a bad husband
as well as a neglectful one?"

Val rose from his seat and went to the window, which opened to the
ground. He did not wish to quarrel with her if he could help it. Lady
Kirton raised her voice.

"Staying away, as you have, in London, and leaving Maude here to pine
alone."

"Business kept me in London."

"I dare say it did!" cried the wrathful dowager. "If Maude died of ennui,
you wouldn't care. She can't go about much herself just now, poor thing!
I do wish Edward had lived."

"I wish he had, with all my heart!" came the answer; and the tone struck
surprise on the dowager's ear--it was so full of pain. "Maude's coming to
Hartledon without me was her own doing," he remarked. "I wished her not
to come."

"I dare say you did, as her heart was set upon it. The fact of her
wishing to do a thing would be the signal for your opposing it; I've
gathered that much. My advice to Maude is, to assert her own will,
ir