ian Lind
again. Think of all the women who would give their souls to have a
husband who would neither drink, nor swear at them, nor kick them, nor
sulk whenever he was kept waiting half a minute for anything. You have
no little pests of children----"

"I wish I had. That would give us some interest in common. We sometimes
have Lucy, Marmaduke's little girl, up here; and Ned seems to me to be
fond of her. She is a very bold little thing."

"I saw Marmaduke last week. He is not half so jolly as he was."

"He lives in chambers in Westminster now, and only comes out in this
direction occasionally to see Lucy. I am afraid _she_ has taken to
drinking. I believe she is going to America. I hope she is; for she
makes me uncomfortable when I think of her."

"Does your--your Ned ever speak of her?"

"No. He used to, before he changed as I described. Now, he never
mentions her. Hush! Here he is."

The sound of the organ had ceased; and Conolly came out and stood
between them.

"How do you like my consoler, as Marian calls it?" said he.

"Do you mean the organ?"

"Yes."

"I wasn't listening to you."

"You should have: I played the great fugue in A minor expressly for your
entertainment: you used to work at Liszt's transcription of it. The
organ is only occasionally my consoler. For the most part I am driven to
it by habit and a certain itching in my fingers. Marian is my real
consoler."

"So she has just been telling me," said Elinor. Conolly's surprise
escaped him for just a moment in a quick glance at Marian. She colored,
and looked reproachfully at her cousin, who added, "I am sure you must
be a nuisance to the neighbors."

"Probably," said Conolly.

"I do not think you should play so much on Sunday," said Marian.

"I know. [Marian winced.] Well, if the neighbors will either melt down
the church bells they jangle so horribly within fifteen yards or so of
my unfortunate ears, or else hang them up two hundred feet high in a
beautiful tower where they would sound angelic, as they do at Utrecht,
then perhaps I will stop the organ to listen to them. Until then, I will
take the liberty of celebrating the day of rest with such devices as the
religious folk cannot forbid me."

"Pray do not begin to talk about religion, Ned."

"My way of thinking is too robust for Marian, Miss McQuinch. I admit
that it does not, at first sight, seem pretty or sentimental. But I do
not know how even Marian can prefer the church bells