if to see whether she
had lost her senses. And all this he bore with a patience which few
could have rivalled. Moments there were when she softened, and, in a
burst of hysterical weeping, begged him to forgive her for some unusual
violence, pleading her illness as the cause; and so sensible was he to
compassion, that he always vowed in his mind to bear anything rather
than deal harshly with her. Love for her, in the true sense, he had
never felt, but his pity often led him to effusions of tenderness which
love could scarcely have exceeded. He was giving up everything for her.
Through whole evenings he would sit by her, as she lay in pain, holding
her hands, and talking in a way which he thought would amuse or
interest her.

"You're sorry you married me," she would often say at such times. "It's
no good saying no; I'm sure you are."

That always made Julian think of her father, and of his own promise
always to be a friend to the poor, weak, ailing creature; and he
strengthened himself in his resolution to bear everything.

Waymark decided that he would venture on the step of going to see
Harriet during the daytime, whilst Julian was away, in order to speak
of Ida. This he did on the Monday, and was lucky enough to find her at
home. She was evidently surprised at his visit, and perhaps still more
so at the kind and friendly way in which he began to speak to her. In a
few minutes he had worked round to his subject. He had, he said, a
friend, a young lady who was very lonely, and for whom he wanted to
find an agreeable companion. It had occurred to him that perhaps he
might ask to be allowed to introduce her. Waymark had concluded that
this would probably be the best way of putting it; Harriet would
perhaps be flattered by being asked to confer the favour of her
acquaintance. And indeed she seemed so; there was even something like a
momentary touch of colour in her pale cheek.

"Does Julian know her?" she asked, fixing her eyes on his with the
closest scrutiny.

"No, he does not."

He would leave her to what conclusion she liked about his relations to
Ida; in reality that mattered little.

"She is some one," he went on, "for whom I have a great regard. As I
say, she has really no friends, and she earns her own living. I feel
sure you would find her company pleasant; she is sensible and cheerful,
and would be very grateful for any kindness you showed her. Her name,
by-the-by, is Ida Starr."

"Ida Starr?"

"Is t