" she asked.

"We'll just go down to Robin Hill," said James, spluttering out his words
very quick; "the horses want exercise, and I should like to see what
they've been doing down there."

Irene hung back, but again changed her mind, and went out to the
carriage, James brooding over her closely, to make quite sure.

It was not before he had got her more than half way that he began:
"Soames is very fond of you--he won't have anything said against you; why
don't you show him more affection?"

Irene flushed, and said in a low voice: "I can't show what I haven't
got."

James looked at her sharply; he felt that now he had her in his own
carriage, with his own horses and servants, he was really in command of
the situation. She could not put him off; nor would she make a scene in
public.

"I can't think what you're about," he said. "He's a very good husband!"

Irene's answer was so low as to be almost inaudible among the sounds of
traffic. He caught the words: "You are not married to him!"

"What's that got to do with it? He's given you everything you want.
He's always ready to take you anywhere, and now he's built you this house
in the country. It's not as if you had anything of your own."

"No."

Again James looked at her; he could not make out the expression on her
face. She looked almost as if she were going to cry, and yet....

"I'm sure," he muttered hastily, "we've all tried to be kind to you."

Irene's lips quivered; to his dismay James saw a tear steal down her
cheek. He felt a choke rise in his own throat.

"We're all fond of you," he said, "if you'd only"--he was going to say,
"behave yourself," but changed it to--"if you'd only be more of a wife to
him."

Irene did not answer, and James, too, ceased speaking. There was
something in her silence which disconcerted him; it was not the silence
of obstinacy, rather that of acquiescence in all that he could find to
say. And yet he felt as if he had not had the last word. He could not
understand this.

He was unable, however, to long keep silence.

"I suppose that young Bosinney," he said, "will be getting married to
June now?"

Irene's face changed. "I don't know," she said; "you should ask her."

"Does she write to you?" No.

"How's that?" said James. "I thought you and she were such great
friends."

Irene turned on him. "Again," she said, "you should ask her!"

"Well," flustered James, frightened by her look, "it's very odd that