d, dearie?" asked the old lady meaningly.

"I? Tired of Philip? I am only happy when he is with me!" And her eyes
deepened with passionate tenderness. "I would wish to live and die
beside him, and I should not care if I never saw another human face than
his!"

"Well, and don't you think he has the same feelings for you?"

"Men are different, I think," returned Thelma musingly. "Now, love is
everything to me--but it may not be everything to Philip. I do believe
that love is only part of a man's life, while it is _all_ a woman's.
Clara told me once that most husbands wearied of their wives, though
they would not always confess it--"

"Clara Winsleigh's modern social doctrines are false, my dear!"
interrupted Mrs. Lorimer quickly. "She isn't satisfied with her own
marriage, and she thinks everybody must be as discontented as herself.
Now, my husband and I lived always together for five and twenty
years,--and we were lovers to the last day, when my darling died with
his hand in mine--and--and--if it hadn't been for my boy,--I should have
died too!"

And two bright tears fell glittering on the old lady's knitting.

Thelma took her hand and kissed it fondly. "I can understand that," she
said softly; "but still,--still I do believe it is difficult to keep
love when you have won it! It is, perhaps, easy to win--but I am sure it
is hard to keep!"

Mrs. Lorimer looked at her earnestly.

"My dear child, don't let that frivolous Winsleigh woman put nonsense
into your pretty head. You are too sensible to take such a morbid view
of things,--and you mustn't allow your wholesome fresh nature to be
contaminated by the petulant, wrong-headed notions that cloud the brains
of idle, fashionable, useless women. Believe me, good men don't tire of
their wives--and Sir Philip is a good man. Good wives never weary their
husbands--and you are a good wife--and you will be a good, sweet mother.
Think of that new delight so soon coming for you,--and leave all the
modern, crazy, one-sided notions of human life to the French and Russian
novelists. Tut-tut!" continued the old lady tenderly. "A nice little
ladyship you are,--worrying yourself about nothing! Send Philip to me
when he comes home--I'll scold him for leaving his bird to mope in her
London cage!"

"I do not mope," declared Thelma. "And you must not scold him, please!
Poor boy! he is working so very hard, and has so much to attend to. He
wants to distinguish himself for--for my sak