mself, he reflected, frowning, as he
strolled after her; but there were limits. Marriage was a thing apart;
in that quarter, at any rate, it was no good supposing you could
escape from the rules of the game.

Not that the rules always led you right--witness De Pastourelles and
his villainies. But matrimonial anarchy was not to be justified,
any more than social anarchy, by the failures and drawbacks of
arrangements which were on the whole for people's good. _Passe
encore_!--if Fenwick had only fulfilled the promise of his
youth!--were at least a successful artist, instead of promising to
become a quarrelsome failure!

Now if Arthur himself were free! Supposing this poor girl were to
succumb?--what then?

At this point Lord Findon checked himself roughly, and a minute
afterwards was shaking Welby by the hand and stooping with an old
man's courtesy over the invalid carriage in which Mrs. Welby lay
reclined.

Euphrosyne, indeed, had shed her laughter! A face with sunken eyes
and drawn lips, and with that perpetual suspicious furrow in the brow,
which meant a terror lest any movement or jar should let loose the
enemy, pain; an emaciated body, from which all the soft mouldings of
youth had departed; a frail hand, lying in mute appeal on the shawl
with which she was covered:--this was now Elsie Welby, whose beauty
in the first years of her marriage had been one of the adornments of
London.

Eugenie was bending over her, and Mrs. Welby was pettishly answering.

'It's so stiff and formal. I don't admire this kind of thing. And
there isn't a bit of shade on this terrace. _I_ think it's ugly!'

Welby laid a hand on hers, smiling.

'But to-day, Bebe, you like the sun?--in October?'

Mrs. Welby was very decidedly of opinion that even in October there
was a glare--and in August--she shuddered to think of it! It was so
tiresome, too, to have missed the Grandes Eaux. So like French red
tape, to insist on stopping them on a particular date. Why should they
be stopped? As to expense, that was nonsense. How could water
cost anything! It was because the French were so _doctrinaire_, so
tyrannical--so fond of managing for managing's sake.

So the pettish voice rambled on, the others tenderly and sadly
listening, till presently Lord Findon shook his gaunt shoulders.

'Upon my word, it begins to get cold. With your leave, Elsie, I could
do with a little more sun! Arthur, shall we take a brisk walk round
the canal before tea?'