upon her shoulder. "Mary," he said, "will you not
kiss me?"

"Certainly I will," she said, jumping up, and offering her face to
his salute. A month or two ago he would have given the world for
permission to kiss her; and now it seemed as though the thing itself
were a matter but of little joy. A kiss to be joyful should be
stolen, with a conviction on the part of the offender that she who
has suffered the loss will never prosecute the thief. She had meant
to be good to him, but the favour would have gone further with him
had she made more of it.

Then they went up stairs. Who does not know the questions that were
asked and that were answered? On this occasion they were asked and
answered with matter-of-fact useful earnestness. The papers on the
walls were perhaps old and ugly; but she did not mind it if they
were so. If he liked to have the rooms new papered, of course it
would be nice. Would she like new furniture? Did she object to the
old-fashioned four-post bedsteads? Had she any special taste about
hangings and colours? Of course she had, but she could not bring
herself to indulge them by giving orders as to this or that. She
praised everything; was satisfied with everything; was interested in
everything; but would propose no changes. What right had she, seeing
that she was to give him so little, to ask him to do this or that
for her? She meant on this occasion to do all that she could for his
happiness, but had she ordered new furniture for the whole house,
begged that every room might be fresh papered, and pointed out that
the panelling was old and must be altered, and the entire edifice
re-painted inside and out, he would have been a happier man. "I hope
you will find it comfortable," he said, in a tone of voice that was
beyond measure lugubrious.

"I am sure that I shall," she replied. "What more can any woman want
than there is here? And then there are so many comforts to which I
have never been used."

This passed between them as they stood on the steps of the house,
looking down upon green paddocks in front of the house; "I think we
will come and see the gardens another day," he said.

"Whenever you like," she answered. "Perhaps if we stay now we shall
be keeping them waiting." Then, as they returned by the road, she
remembered an account that Janet Fenwick had given her of a certain
visit which Janet had made to the vicarage as Miss Balfour, and
of all the joys of that inspection. But what right had