would look in at the
door of his little study, which adjoined the library, and he learned to
watch for the first glimmer of her dress, and to listen for her bright
"Good morning, Mr. Neville!" with a sensation of the keenest pleasure.
It was a sort of benediction on the whole day. A proud man was he when
she asked him to give her lessons on the organ,--and never did he forget
the first time he heard her sing. He was playing an exquisite "Ave
Maria," by Stradella, and she, standing by her husband's side was
listening, when she suddenly exclaimed--

"Why, we used to sing that at Arles!"--and her rich, round voice pealed
forth clear, solemn, and sweet, following with pure steadiness the
sustained notes of the organ. Neville's heart thrilled,--he heard her
with a sort of breathless wonder and rapture, and when she ceased, it
seemed as though heaven had closed upon him.

"One cannot praise such a voice as that!" he said. "It would be a kind
of sacrilege. It is divine!"

After this, many were the pleasant musical evenings they all passed
together in the grand old library, and,--as Mrs. Rush-Marvelle had so
indignantly told her husband,--no visitors were invited to the Manor
during that winter. Errington was perfectly happy--he wanted no one but
his wife, and the idea of entertaining a party of guests who would most
certainly interfere with his domestic enjoyment, seemed almost abhorrent
to him. The county-people called,--but missed seeing Thelma, for during
the daytime she was always out with her husband taking long walks and
rambling excursions to the different places hallowed by Shakespeare's
presence,--and when she, instructed by Sir Philip, called on the
county-people, they also seemed to be never at home.

And so, as yet, she had made no acquaintances, and now that she had been
married eight months and had come to London, the same old story repeated
itself. People called on her in the afternoon just at the time when she
went out driving,--when she returned their visits, she, in her turn,
found them absent. She did not as yet understand the mystery of having
"a day" on which to receive visitors in shoals--a day on which to drink
unlimited tea, talk platitudes, and utterly bored and exhausted at the
end thereof--in fact, she did not see the necessity of knowing many
people,--her husband was all-sufficient for her,--to be in his society
was all she cared for. She left her card at different houses because he
told her to