re me in all the day's duties; since, though I miss you,
all day long I shall be learning to be a good wife."

As she said it her hand went up to her side beneath her left breast,
as something fluttered there, soft as a bird's wing stirring.
It fluttered for a moment under her palm, then ceased. The room had
grown strangely still. . . . Yet he was speaking.

He was saying--"I'll teach these good people who's Head of the
Family!"

Ah, yes--"the Family!" Should she tell him? . . . She bethought her
of Mrs. Harry's sudden giddiness in the waggon. Mrs. Harry
was now the mother of a lusty boy--Sir Oliver's heir, and the
Family's prospective Head. . . . Should she tell him? . . .

He stooped and kissed her. "Love, you are pale. I have broken this
news too roughly."

She faltered. "When must you start?"

"In three days. That's as soon as the _Maryland_ can take in the
rest of her cargo and clear the customs."

"They will be busy days for you."

"Desperately."

"Yet you must spare me a part of one, and teach me to keep accounts,"
said she, and smiled bravely albeit her face was wan.

Chapter III.

MISCALCULATING WRATH.

Mr. Langton sat in his private apartment by Boston Quay trying the
balance of a malacca cane.

Sir Oliver had sailed a week ago. Mr. Langton had walked down to the
ship with him and taken his farewell instructions.

"By the way," said Sir Oliver, "I want you to make occasion to visit
Eagles now and again, and pay your respects. I shall write to you as
well as to her; and the pair of you can exchange news from your
letters. She likes you."

"I hope so," answered Langton, "because 'tis an open secret that I
adore her."

Sir Oliver smiled, a trifle ruefully. "Then you'll understand how it
hits a man to leave her. Maybe--for I had meant to make you
paymaster in my absence--you'll also forgive me for having changed my
mind?"

"I'd have called you a damned fool if you hadn't," said Langton
equably. "She's your wife, hang it all: and I'll lay you five pounds
you'll return to find her with hair dishevelled over your monstrous
careless bookkeeping. My dear Noll, a woman--a good woman--is never
completely happy till convinced that she, and only she, has saved the
man she loves from ruin; and, what's more, she's a fool if she can't
prove it."

"Nevertheless she's a beginner; and I'll be glad of your promise to
run over from time to time. A question or two will soon discove