were mainly of that quiet nature which
one sometimes sees to be achieved with so little effort by beautiful
women. It seemed but necessary that she should sit still, and
sometimes smile, and the world was ready to throw itself at her feet.
Nay, the smile was but too often omitted, and yet the world was
there.

At home, though more employed, she was hardly more energetic. Her
husband told her that he wished his house to be noted for the
pleasantness of his dinner-parties, and, therefore, she studied the
subject as a good child would study a lesson. She taught herself what
the material of a dinner should be, she satisfied herself that her
cook was good, she looked to the brilliancy of her appointments, and
did her best to make the house shine brightly. The house did shine,
and on the whole Sir Henry was contented. It was true that his wife
did not talk much; but what little she did say was said with a sweet
manner and with perfect grace. She was always dressed with care, was
always beautiful, was always ladylike. Had not Sir Henry reason to be
contented? As for talking, he could do that himself.

And now that she was told that George Bertram was to come to her
house, she did not show much more excitement at the tidings than at
the promised advent of Mr. Baron Brawl. She took the matter with such
indifference that Sir Henry, at least, had no cause for jealousy. But
then she was indifferent about everything. Nothing seemed to wake
her either to joy or sorrow. Sir Henry, perhaps, was contented; but
lovely, ladylike, attractive as she was, he sometimes did feel almost
curious to know whether it were possible to rouse this doll of his to
any sense of life or animation. He had thought, nay, almost wished,
that the name of her old lover would have moved her, that the idea of
seeing him would have disturbed her. But, no; one name was the same
to her as another. She had been told to go and call on Mrs. Stistick,
and she had gone. She was told to receive Mr. Bertram, and she was
quite ready to do so. Angels from heaven, or spirits from below,
could Sir Henry have summoned such to his table, would have been
received by her with equal equanimity. This was dutiful on her part,
and naturally satisfactory to a husband inclined to be somewhat
exigeant. But even duty may pall on an exigeant husband, and a man
may be brought to wish that his wife would cross him.

But on this occasion Sir Henry had no such pleasure. "I saw Bertram
this