henever he came home at night. As a general might have examined the
list of killed and wounded after an action, computing with himself the
cost of victory or defeat, so did this veteran warrior of a world's
campaign go carefully over all the signs of wear and tear, the hard
lines of pain or checkered coloring of agitation, which his last
engagement might have inflicted.

As he sat down before his mirror now, he was actually shocked to see
what ravages a single evening had produced. The circles around his eyes
were deeply indented, the corners of his mouth drawn down so fixedly and
firmly that all attempts to conjure up a smile were failures, while a
purple tint beneath his rouge totally destroyed that delicate coloring
which was wont to impart the youthful look to his features.

The vulgar impertinence of Cutbill made indeed but little impression
upon him. An annoyance while it lasted, it still left nothing for memory
that could not be dismissed with ease. It was Marion. It was what she
had said that weighed so painfully on his heart, wounding where he was
most intensely and delicately sensitive. She had told him--what had she
told him? He tried to recall her exact words, but he could not. They
were in reply to remarks of his own, and owed all their significance to
the context. One thing she certainly had said--that there were certain
steps in life about which the world held but one opinion, and the
allusion was to men marrying late in life; and then she added a
remark as to the want of "sympathy"--or was it "harmony" she called
it?--between them. How strange that he could not remember more exactly
all that passed, he, who, after his interviews with Ministers and
great men, could go home and send off in an official despatch the whole
dialogue of the audience. But why seek for the precise expressions
she employed? The meaning should surely be enough for him, and that
was--there was no denying it--that the disparity of their ages was a bar
to his pretensions. "Had our ranks in life been alike, there might have
been force in her observation; but she forgets that a coronet encircles
a brow like a wreath of youth;" and he adjusted the curls of his wig
as he spoke, and smiled at himself more successfully than he had done
before.

"On the whole, perhaps it is better," said he, as he arose and walked
the room. "A mesalliance can only be justified by great beauty or great
wealth. One must do a consumedly rash thing, or a wonde