quite lose sight of your troubles. I do not know that there could
possibly be a greater one."

At first my father would laugh, and say gently:

"Ah, yes, there could be one--it would be so much worse if my dear wife
had died."

But after a time he began to shake his head gravely as she shook hers,
and sigh as he answered:

"Ah, yes, it is a terrible infliction."

If any little domestic unpleasantness occurred, a thing by Sir Roland's
desire always kept from my mother, she would look so kindly at him.

"Dear Sir Roland, how tiresome all this is for you. I wonder you are so
patient." Could my mother help it, I cried to myself with passionate
tears; was it her fault that she was stricken and helpless; ought this
woman to speak to my father about it as though he were the sufferer? The
tears that fell from my eyes blinded me; thus I had to go to my lessons,
my heart torn with its sense of injury and resentment against the one
who seemed to me my mother's enemy, I knew not why.

Again, if there was a question about any visitors, and my father seemed
at a loss for a few minutes, she would say:

"How painful it is for you, Sir Roland, to be troubled in this fashion;
can I do anything to help you?" Or it would be, "How sorry I am to see
you teased about such trifles, Sir Roland; can I manage it for you?"

The same when he received invitations: before now it had seemed at least
almost a pleasure to decline them. I could remember how he used to take
both the letters of invitation and his refusals and send them to my
mother, commenting on them as he read. That was always followed by a
pretty little love scene, during which my mother would express her
regret that he was deprived of a pleasure; and he always answered that
the only pleasure he had was to be with her.

Nor do I believe that state of things would ever have changed but for
Miss Reinhart. Now, when these letters came and he would read them with
knitted brow, she would inquire gently, ah, and with such sweet,
seductive sweetness, if anything in his letters had put him out.

"No," he would answer with a sigh. "Oh, no! There is nothing in my
letters to annoy me--just the contrary. I ought to feel delighted. Sir
Charles Pomfret wishes me to go over to Pomfort Castle for a few days;
he has a fine large party there, and several of my old friends among
them."

"What a disappointment to you," she cried. "You must feel these things
sorely."

A frown instead of a