the ring for
which, as it now turned out, she herself had had to pay.

Sydney's position was certainly a painful one just then. But he was at
any rate relieved of the burden of his debts, and he hoped, with some
compunction of heart, that no other secret of his life would ever come
to his wife's ears. It was about this time that he received the letter
from Cora Walcott and had the interview with Lettice, of which mention
has been made; and Nan fancied that it was anxiety about his sister that
caused him to show signs of moodiness and depression. He had told her
nothing more of Lettice's doings than he was obliged to tell, but other
friends were not so reticent, and Lady Pynsent had enlightened Nan's
mind very speedily with respect to the upshot of "the Walcott affair."
Nan made some reference to it shortly afterwards in conversation with
her husband, and was struck by the look of pain which crossed his face
as he replied,

"Don't talk about it, Nan, my dear."

"He must be much fonder of his sister than I thought," Nan said to
herself. She made one more effort to speak.

"Could I do nothing, Sydney? Suppose I went to her, and told her how
grieved you were----"

"You, Nan! For heaven's sake, don't let me hear of your crossing the
threshold of that house!" cried Sydney, with vehemence, which Nan very
naturally misunderstood.

It was, on the whole, a relief to her to find that he did not want her
to take any active steps in any direction. She was not very strong, and
was glad to be left a good deal at peace. Sydney was out for a great
part of the day, and Nan took life easily. Lady Pynsent came to sit with
her sometimes, or drove in the Park with her, and other friends sought
her out: she had tender hopes for the future which filled her mind with
sweet content, and she would have been happy but for that slight jar
between Sydney and herself. That consciousness of a want of trust which
never ceased to give her pain. Sydney himself was the most attentive of
husbands when he was at home: he brought her flowers and fruit, he read
aloud to her, he hung over her as she lay on the sofa, and surrounded
her with a hundred little marks of his affection--such as she would have
thought delicious while her confidence in him was still unshaken. She
still found pleasure in them; but her eyes were keener than they had
been, and she knew that beneath all the manifestations of his real and
strong attachment to her there ran a vein of