--and there
isn't a woman in society who wouldn't be perfectly charmed with it. But
your ideas are better than Rosine's and all society's put together. Obey
your own womanly instinct, Thelma!"

"But what do _you_ wish?" she asked earnestly. "You must tell me. It is
to please you that I live."

He kissed her. "You want me to issue a command about the affair?" he
said half laughingly.

She smiled up into his eyes. "Yes!--and I will obey!"

"Very well! Now listen!" and he held her by both hands, and looked with
sudden gravity into her sweet face--"Thelma, my wife, thus sayeth your
lord and master,--despise the vulgar indecencies of fashion, and you
will gratify me more than words can say;--keep your pure and beautiful
self sacred from the profaning gaze of the multitude,--sacred to me and
my love for you, and I shall be the proudest man living! Finally,"--and
he smiled again--"give Rosine back this effort at a bodice, and tell her
to make something more in keeping with the laws of health and modesty.
And Thelma--one more kiss! You are a darling!"

She laughed softly and left him, returning at once to the irate
dressmaker who waited for her.

"I am sorry," she said very sweetly, "to have called you wicked! You
see, I did not understand! But though this style of dress is
fashionable, I do not wish to wear it--so you will please make me
another bodice, with a small open square at the throat, and
elbow-sleeves,--and you will lose nothing at all--for I shall pay you
for this one just the same. And you must quite pardon me for my mistake
and hasty words!"

Maladi's manner was so gracious and winning, that Madame Rosine found it
impossible not to smile in a soothed and mollified way,--and though she
deeply regretted that so beautiful a neck and arms were not to be
exposed to public criticism, she resigned herself to the inevitable, and
took away the offending bodice, replacing it in a couple of days by one
much prettier and more becoming by reason of its perfect modesty.

On leaving Paris, Sir Philip had taken his wife straight home to his
fine old Manor in Warwickshire. Thelma's delight in her new abode was
unbounded--the stately oaks that surrounded it,--the rose-gardens, the
conservatories,--the grand rooms, with their fine tapestries, oak
furniture, and rare pictures,--the splendid library, the long, lofty
drawing-rooms, furnished and decorated after the style of Louis
Quinze,--all filled her with a tender pride and