artistes._"

"But," Karen said, looking closely at him, and with a smile, "you would
not care to pass your life with them. And you were quite disturbed lest
I should say that I wanted to go and take the Lippheims by surprise at
Leipsig. You like _les gens du monde_ better than artists, Gregory."

"What are you?" Gregory smiled back at her. "I like you better."

"I? I am _gens du monde manque_ and _artiste manque_. I am neither fish,
flesh nor fowl," said Karen. "I'm only--positively--my husband's wife
and Tante's ward. And that quite satisfies me."

He knew that it did. Their happiness was flawless; flawless as far as
her husband's wife was concerned. It was in regard to Tante's ward that
Gregory was more and more conscious of keeping something from Karen,
while more and more it grew difficult to keep anything from her.
Already, if sub-consciously, she must have become aware that her
guardian's unabated mournfulness did not affect her husband as it did
herself. She had showed him no more of Tante's letters, and they had
been quite frequent. She had told him while they were in Scotland that
it had hurt Tante very much that they should not have waited till her
return; but she did not enlarge on the theme; and Gregory knew why; to
enlarge would have been to reproach him. Karen had yielded, against her
own wishes, to his entreaties. She had agreed that their marriage should
not be so postponed at the last minute. In his vehemence Gregory had
been skilful; he had said not one word of reproach, against Madame von
Marwitz for her disconcerting change of plan. It was not surprising to
him; it was what he had expected of Madame von Marwitz, that she would
put Karen aside for a whim. Karen would not see her guardian's action in
this light; yet she must know that her beloved was vulnerable to the
charge, at all events, of inconsiderateness, and she had been grateful
to him, no doubt, for showing no consciousness of it. She had consented,
perhaps, partly through gratitude, though she had felt her pledged word,
too, as binding. Once she had consented, whatever the results, Gregory
knew that she would not visit them on him. It was of her own
responsibility that she was thinking when, with a grave face, she had
told him of Tante's hurt. "After all, dearest," Gregory had ventured,
"we did want her, didn't we? It was really she who chose not to come,
wasn't it?"

"I am sure that Tante wanted to see me married," said Karen, touching