red his wife, chiefly because it was so near the truth.
He smiled. Smiling was part of his equipment, and was for any one at any
time that suited him.

Her eyes met his, and he noted in her something that he had never seen
before. Something had happened. The Duchess of Snowdon was in the house;
had it anything to do with her? Had she made trouble? There was trouble
enough without her. He came forward, took Hylda's hand and kissed it,
then kissed her on the cheek. As he did so, she laid a hand on his arm
with a sudden impulse, and pressed it. Though his presence had chilled
the high emotions of a few moments before, yet she had to break to him
a truth which would hurt him, dismay him, rob his life of so much that
helped it; and a sudden protective, maternal sense was roused in her,
reached out to shelter him as he faced his loss and the call of duty.

"You have just come?" she said, in a voice that, to herself, seemed far
away.

"I have been here some hours," he answered. Secrecy again--always
the thing that had chilled the dead woman, and laid a cold hand upon
herself--"I felt the shadow of secrecy in your life. When you talked
most I felt you most secretive, and the feeling slowly closed the door
upon all frankness and sympathy and open speech between us."

"Why did you not see me--dine with me?" she asked. "What can
the servants think?" Even in such a crisis the little things had
place--habit struck its note in the presence of her tragedy.

"You had the Duchess of Snowdon, and we are not precisely congenial;
besides, I had much to do in the laboratory. I'm working for that new
explosive of which I told you. There's fame and fortune in it, and I'm
on the way. I feel it coming"--his eyes sparkled a little. "I made it
right with the servants; so don't be apprehensive."

"I have not seen you for nearly a week. It doesn't seem--friendly."

"Politics and science are stern masters," he answered gaily.

"They leave little time for your mistress," she rejoined meaningly.

"Who is my mistress?"

"Well, I am not greatly your wife," she replied. "I have the dregs of
your life. I help you--I am allowed to help you--so little, to share so
little in the things that matter to you."

"Now, that's imagination and misunderstanding," he rejoined. "It has
helped immensely your being such a figure in society, and entertaining
so much, and being so popular, at any rate until very lately."

"I do not misunderstand," she answered