s mother had consented to Hubert's marrying before the year of
mourning was over, there was really no reason why they should not go up
to Paris as usual; and she was surprised at the readiness with which he
prepared to accompany her.

A year earlier she would have regarded this as another proof of her
power; but she now drew her inferences less quickly. Raymond was as
"lovely" to her as ever; but more than once, during their months in the
country, she had had a startled sense of not giving him all he expected
of her. She had admired him, before their marriage, as a model of social
distinction; during the honeymoon he had been the most ardent of lovers;
and with their settling down at Saint Desert she had prepared to resign
herself to the society of a country gentleman absorbed in sport and
agriculture. But Raymond, to her surprise, had again developed a
disturbing resemblance to his predecessor. During the long winter
afternoons, after he had gone over his accounts with the bailiff, or
written his business letters, he took to dabbling with a paint-box, or
picking out new scores at the piano; after dinner, when they went to the
library, he seemed to expect to read aloud to her from the reviews and
papers he was always receiving; and when he had discovered her inability
to fix her attention he fell into the way of absorbing himself in one of
the old brown books with which the room was lined. At first he tried--as
Ralph had done--to tell her about what he was reading or what was
happening in the world; but her sense of inadequacy made her slip
away to other subjects, and little by little their talk died down to
monosyllables. Was it possible that, in spite of his books, the evenings
seemed as long to Raymond as to her, and that he had suggested going
back to Paris because he was bored at Saint Desert? Bored as she was
herself, she resented his not finding her company all-sufficient, and
was mortified by the discovery that there were regions of his life she
could not enter.

But once back in Paris she had less time for introspection, and Raymond
less for books. They resumed their dispersed and busy life, and in spite
of Hubert's ostentatious vicinity, of the perpetual lack of money, and
of Paul's innocent encroachments on her freedom, Undine, once more in
her element, ceased to brood upon her grievances. She enjoyed going
about with her husband, whose presence at her side was distinctly
ornamental. He seemed to have grown