id, in quite a changed tone, as if something of more importance had
taken possession of his thoughts and had made him almost indifferent to
the past dispute. 'But of course I am quite willing to hear anything you
would still like to say.

Marian had lost her vehemence. She was absent and melancholy.

'I can only ask you,' she replied, 'to try and make life less of a
burden to us.'

'I shall have to leave town to-morrow for a few days; no doubt it will
be some satisfaction to you to hear that.'

Marian's eyes turned involuntarily towards the telegram.

'As for your occupation in my absence,' he went on, in a hard tone which
yet had something tremulous, emotional, making it quite different from
the voice he had hitherto used, 'that will be entirely a matter for your
own judgment. I have felt for some time that you assisted me with less
good-will than formerly, and now that you have frankly admitted it, I
shall of course have very little satisfaction in requesting your aid. I
must leave it to you; consult your own inclination.'

It was resentful, but not savage; between the beginning and the end of
his speech he softened to a sort of self-satisfied pathos.

'I can't pretend,' replied Marian, 'that I have as much pleasure in the
work as I should have if your mood were gentler.'

'I am sorry. I might perhaps have made greater efforts to appear at ease
when I was suffering.'

'Do you mean physical suffering?'

'Physical and mental. But that can't concern you. During my absence I
will think of your reproof. I know that it is deserved, in some degree.
If it is possible, you shall have less to complain of in future.'

He looked about the room, and at length seated himself; his eyes were
fixed in a direction away from Marian.

'I suppose you had dinner somewhere?' Marian asked, after catching a
glimpse of his worn, colourless face.

'Oh, I had a mouthful of something. It doesn't matter.'

It seemed as if he found some special pleasure in assuming this tone of
martyrdom just now. At the same time he was becoming more absorbed in
thought.

'Shall I have something brought up for you, father?'

'Something--? Oh no, no; on no account.'

He rose again impatiently, then approached his desk, and laid a hand on
the telegram. Marian observed this movement, and examined his face; it
was set in an expression of eagerness.

'You have nothing more to say, then?' He turned sharply upon her.

'I feel that I haven't made yo