ve assured _his_ happiness? To be sure, so young a girl is liable to
wretched errors--but of that he would take no account; against that he
resolutely closed his mind. From Edward Spence he heard that she was
delighting herself and others in a London season. Precisely; this
justified his forethought; for this she was adapted. But as his wife
nothing of the kind would have been within her scope. He knew him self
too well. His notion of married life was inconsistent with that kind of
pleasure. As his wife, perhaps she would have had no desire save to fit
herself to him. Possibly; but that again was a reflection not to be
admitted. He had only to deal with facts. Sufficient that he could
think of her without a pang, that he could even hope to meet her again
before long. And, best of all, no ungenerous feeling ever tempted him
to wish her anything but wholly happy.

Stretched lazily in the Temple of Neptune, he once or twice looked at
his watch, as though the hour in some way concerned him. How it did was
at length shown. He heard voices approaching, and had just time to rise
to his feet before there appeared figures, rising between the columns
of the entrance against the background of hills. He moved forward, a
bright smile on his face. The arrivals were Edward Spence, with his
wife and Mrs. Baske.

All undemonstrative people, they shook hands much as if they had parted
only a week ago.

"Done your work?" asked Spence, laying his palm on one of the pillars,
with affectionate greeting.

"All I can do here."

"Can we see it?" Eleanor inquired.

"I've packed it for travelling."

Mallard took the first opportunity of looking with scrutiny at Mrs.
Baske. Alone of the three, she was changed noticeably. Her health had
so much improved that, if anything, she looked younger; certainly her
face had more distinct beauty. Reserve and conscious dignity were still
its characteristics--these were inseparable from the mould of feature;
but her eyes no longer had the somewhat sullen gleam which had been
wont to harm her aspect, and when she smiled it was without the hint of
disdainful reticence. Yet the smile was not frequent; her lips had an
habitual melancholy, and very often she knitted her brows in an
expression of troubled thought. Whilst the others were talking with
Mallard, she kept slightly in the rear, and seemed to be occupied in
examining the different parts of the temple.

In attire she was transformed. No suggestion