run away.'

In the expressive vulgar phrase, Wilfrid 'shook himself together.' He
began to perceive that his attitude lacked dignity; even in our misery
we cannot bear to appear ignoble.

'I will leave you to-day,' he said, more like his old self. 'But there
are other things that we must speak of. What of Emily's practical
position?'

'I don't think we need trouble about that. Mr. Baxendale tells me he has
no doubt that the house in Barnhill can be sold at all events for a sum
that will leave them at ease for the present. As soon as Mrs. Hood gets
better, they must both go away. You can trust me to do what can be
done.'

'It is my fear that Emily will find it difficult to accept your
kindness.'

'It will require tact. Only experience can show what my course must be.'

'I sincerely hope the house _will_ be sold. Otherwise, the outlook is
deplorable.'

'I assure you it will be. My husband does not give up anything he has
once put his hand to.'

'I shall keep my own counsel at home,' Wilfrid said.

'Do so, certainly. And you will return to Oxford?'

'I think so. I shall find it easier to live there--if, indeed, I can
live anywhere.'

'I had rather you hadn't added that,' said Mrs. Baxendale with
good-natured reproof. 'You know that you will only work the harder just
to forget your trouble. That, depend upon it, is the only way of killing
the time, as you said; if we strike at him in other ways we only succeed
in making him angry.'

'Another apophthegm,' said Wilfrid, with an attempt at brightness. 'You
are the first woman I have known who has that gift of neatness in
speech.'

'And you are the first man who ever had discernment enough to compliment
me on it. After that, do you think I shall desert your cause?'

Wilfrid made his preparations forthwith, and decided upon a train early
in the afternoon. At luncheon, Mr. Baxendale was full of good-natured
regrets that his visit could not be prolonged till the time of the
election--now very near.

'When your constituents have sent you to Westminster,' said Wilfrid, 'I
hope you will come and report to me the details of the fight?'

So he covered his retreat and retrieved in Mrs. Baxendale's eyes his
weakness of the morning. She took him to the station in her brougham,
but did not go on to the platform. Their parting was very like that of
lovers, for it ended with mutual promises to 'write often.' Mrs.
Baxendale was down-hearted as she drove home--in her a mo