kept saying; "remember
that none of these old splendors are ours."

"They are more ours than they are Mrs. Ransome's, just now," I at last
retorted, with one of my girlhood's saucy looks. "At all events, I am
going to play that it is ours tonight," I added, dancing away from him
towards the long drawing-rooms where I hoped to come upon a picture of
the absent lady of the house.

"Delight "--he was quite peremptory now--

"I must ask you not to enter those rooms, however invitingly the doors
may stand open. It is a notion, a whim of mine, that you do not lend
your beauty to light up that ghostly collection of old pictures and ugly
upholstery, and if you feel like respecting my wishes----"

"But may I not stand in the doorway?" I asked, satisfied at having been
able to catch a glimpse of a full-length portrait of a lady who could
be no other than Mrs. Ransome. "See! my shadow does not even fall
across the carpet. I won't do the room any harm, and I am sure that Mrs.
Ransome's picture won't do me any."

"Come! come away!" he cried; and humoring his wishes, I darted away,
this time in the direction of the dining-room and Ambrose. "My dear,"
remonstrated my husband, quickly following me, "what has brought you
back here?"

"I want to see," said I, "what Ambrose does with the food we did not
eat. Such a lot of it!"

It was childish, but then I was a child and a nervous one, too. Perhaps
he considered this, for, while he was angry enough to turn pale, he did
not attempt any rebuke, but left it to Ambrose to say:

"Mr. Allison is very good, ma'am. This food, which is very nice, is
given each day to a poor girl who comes for it, and takes it home to her
parents. I put it in this basket, and Mr. Allison gives it to the girl
when she calls for it in the evening."

"You _are_ good," I cried, turning to my husband with a fond look. Did
he think the em-phasis misplaced, or did he consider it time for me
to begin to put on more womanly ways, for drawing me again into the
library, he made me sit beside him on the big lounge, and after a kiss
or two, demanded quietly, but oh, how peremptorily:

"Delight, why do you so often speak of Mrs. Ransome? Have you any reason
for it? Has any one talked to you about her, that her name seems to be
almost the only one on your lips in the few, short minutes we have been
married?"

I did not know why this was so, myself, so I only shook my head and
sighed, repentingly. Then, seeing that