heir thoughts were almost
identical. She was by no means a weak-minded woman--she had plenty of
character and firmness; but she deferred to the wishes of her husband,
as a good wife should, and was glad! to feel that he was slightly her
master. Never, under any circumstances, did he make her feel the yoke.
Nevertheless, she obeyed him, and delighted in doing so.

The arrival of their little twin-daughters was the crown of their
bliss. They never regretted the fact that no son was born to them to
inherit the stately acres of Meredith Manor; they were the last sort
of people to grumble. Mrs. Cardew inherited the Meredith property in
her own right, and eventually it would be divided between her two
daughters.

Meanwhile the children themselves absorbed the most loving care of
their parents. Mr. Cardew was, as has already been said, a great
merchant-prince. He often went to London to attend to his business
affairs, but he spent most of his time in the exquisite country home.
It was quite true that discontent seemed far, very far away from so
lovely a spot as Meredith Manor. Nevertheless, Mr. Cardew had seen it
to-day on the face of his best-loved child, his little Merry. The
look had hurt him; and while he was having lunch with her, and joking
with her, and talking, in his usually bright and intelligent way, her
words, and still more the expression of her face and the longing look
in her sweet brown eyes, returned to him again and again.

He was, therefore, more thoughtful than usual as he sat by his wife's
side now under the elm-tree. He had a pile of newspapers and magazines
on the grass at his feet, and his favorite fox-terrier Jim lay close
to his master. Mrs. Cardew had her invariable knitting and a couple of
novels waiting to occupy her attention when Mr. Cardew took up one of
the newspapers. But for a time the pair were silent. Mrs. Cardew was
thinking of something which she wanted to say, and Mr. Cardew was
thinking of Merry. It was, as is invariably the case, the woman who
first broke the silence.

"Well, Cyril," said his wife, "to find ourselves seated here all
alone, without the children's voices to listen to reminds me of the
old times, the good times, the beautiful times when we were first
married."

"My dear," he answered, starting slightly as she spoke, "those were
certainly good and beautiful times, but surely not more good and
beautiful than now, when our two dear little girls are growing up and
givi