de, and who, the
swiftest runner might have read, loved him with all her soul. We all
pride ourselves on our skill in reading the characters of our
fellow-creatures. A man will admit any dulness except that which closes
the hearts of others to him. I was convinced that I had read the
character of Daker before we touched the quay at Boulogne: he was a man
of fine and delicate nature, whom the world had hit; who had been cheery
under punishment; and who had at length got his rich reward in Mrs.
Daker. I repeat this confession, and to my cost; for it is necessary as
part explanation of what follows.

My conversation with Daker was broken by the call of a sweet
voice--"Herbert!" We were crossing the bar at the entrance of Boulogne
harbour. The good ship rolled heavily, and Herbert was wanted! When the
passengers crowded to the side, pressing and jostling to effect an early
landing, and the fishwives were scrambling from the paddles to the deck,
I came upon Daker and his wife once more. She glanced shyly and not very
good-humouredly at me, and seemed to say, "It was you who diverted the
attention of my Herbert from me so long."

"Good morning," Daker said, meaning that there was an end of our
fortuitous intercourse, and that he should be just as chatty and
familiar with any man who might happen to be in the same carriage with
him between Boulogne and Paris. I watched him hand his wife into a
basket phaeton, smooth her dress, arrange her little parcels, satisfy
her as to her dressing-case, and then seat himself triumphantly at her
side, and call gaily to the saturnine Boulounais upon the box, "Allez!"
I confess that a pang of jealousy shot through me. It has been observed
by La Rochefoucauld that it is astonishing how cheerfully we bear the
ills of others; he might well have added that, on the other hand, it is
remarkable how we fret over the happiness of our neighbours. I envied
Daker when I saw him drive away to the station with the gentle girl at
his side; I knew that she was nestling against him, and half her illness
was only an excuse to get nearer to his heart. Why should I envy him?
Could I have seen through his face into his heart at that moment I
should have thanked God, who made me of simpler mould--a lonely, but an
honourable man.

We were on our way to Paris in due time. At Amiens, where we enjoyed the
usual twenty minutes' rest, Daker offered me a light. I saw him making
his way to the carriage in which his wi