hool, and who call yourself a Liberal
simply because Fox was a Liberal a hundred years ago. My heart's in
it."

"Heart should never have anything to do with politics; should it?"
said Erle, turning round to Mr. Kennedy.

Mr. Kennedy did not wish to discuss the matter on a Sunday, nor yet
did he wish to say before Barrington Erle that he thought it wrong
to do so. And he was desirous of treating his wife in some way
as though she were an invalid,--that she thereby might be, as it
were, punished; but he did not wish to do this in such a way that
Barrington should be aware of the punishment.

"Laura had better not disturb herself about it now," he said.

"How is a person to help being disturbed?" said Lady Laura, laughing.

"Well, well; we won't mind all that now," said Mr. Kennedy, turning
away. Then he took up the novel which Lady Laura had just laid down
from her hand, and, having looked at it, carried it aside, and placed
it on a book-shelf which was remote from them. Lady Laura watched him
as he did this, and the whole course of her husband's thoughts on the
subject was open to her at once. She regretted the novel, and she
regretted also the political discussion. Soon afterwards Barrington
Erle went away, and the husband and wife were alone together.

"I am glad that your head is so much better," said he. He did not
intend to be severe, but he spoke with a gravity of manner which
almost amounted to severity.

"Yes; it is," she said, "Barrington's coming in cheered me up."

"I am sorry that you should have wanted cheering."

"Don't you know what I mean, Robert?"

"No; I do not think that I do, exactly."

"I suppose your head is stronger. You do not get that feeling
of dazed, helpless imbecility of brain, which hardly amounts to
headache, but which yet--is almost as bad."

"Imbecility of brain may be worse than headache, but I don't think it
can produce it."

"Well, well;--I don't know how to explain it."

"Headache comes, I think, always from the stomach, even when produced
by nervous affections. But imbecility of the brain--"

"Oh, Robert, I am so sorry that I used the word."

"I see that it did not prevent your reading," he said, after a pause.

"Not such reading as that. I was up to nothing better."

Then there was another pause.

"I won't deny that it may be a prejudice," he said, "but I confess
that the use of novels in my own house on Sundays is a pain to me.
My mother's ideas on the subje