her own
apartment, and squatted on the floor to watch _him_ shave, with her
white gown wrapped around a foam of lacey under-garments, and her white
shoes kicked off on to the rug. She looked young, and fresh, and
blooming, and brought with her a delicious odour of violets, and it
appeared to afford her intense satisfaction to watch Martin lather his
chin, and twist it from side to side for the convenience of the safety
razor.

"Darling, you _do_ look plain! I love you dreadfully when I see you
shave. All that trouble to spare me a beard! ... Don't cut yourself,
like a precious. I do so object to bits of cotton-wool... Doesn't it
feel nice and married to have me sitting here, watching you, in my bare
tootsies, and knowing that even the Vicaress herself could not object?
She'll be there to-night, you know. What will she wear?--A black satin,
cut in a V, with a pendant of agate, and a cap with an aigrette. Dear
thing! I must remember to enquire for the Mothers' Meeting."

Martin, his chin violently undulating, murmured a word which was
evidently of a warning nature, but Grizel took no notice. Her hands
were clasped round her knees, she was smiling, in a soft reflective
fashion.

"No," she said slowly, "no! this first year must be just for
ourselves.--I am so thankful that Katrine is away and so happy, for our
own sakes, as well as her own. I am thankful there are no other near
relatives to trouble about. I don't want _Anyone_ to come between us
this first year, not even--that! A year or two alone together we must
have, and then,--we'll pray for twins!"

Martin's sureness of hand alone saved him from the necessity of
cotton-wool. He turned round, smiling, lathered, twinkling with humour.

"Why be so greedy? Surely _one_--"

"No, no--two would be twice as nice. You get on so slowly with one at a
time." She bent her head still lower, so that her chin rested upon her
knees; her golden eyes stared into space, her shoulders heaved with a
regretful sigh. "No," she said at last, "no! I suppose it would not
do. Triplets _are_ vulgar, but oh, Martin, think of it!--_three_ ducks,
all in a row, each with its long white tail, and its little ribbons
round its wrists, and its little gold sovereign hanging round its
neck... The Queen's Bounty! And oh, Martin, think, think! what an
advertisement for your books... It would be in all the papers. `Mrs
Martin Beverley, wife of the well-known novelist, yesterday b