es in
the Cross Hall kitchen, he was told that there was no message, and had
trotted off with most unnecessary speed. Mary was with her father when
word was brought to him, saying that there was no message. "Oh, papa,
he doesn't care!" she said.

"He will be sure to write," said the Dean, "and he would not allow
himself to write in a hurry."

"But why doesn't he come?"

"He ought to come."

"Oh, papa;--if he doesn't care, I shall die."

"Men always care very much."

"But if he has made up his mind to quarrel with me for ever, then he
won't care. Why didn't he send his love?"

"He wouldn't do that by the groom."

"I'd send him mine by a chimney-sweep if there were nobody else." Then
the door was opened, and in half a second she was in her husband's
arms. "Oh, George, my darling, my own, I am so happy. I thought you
would come. Oh, my dear!" Then the Dean crept out without a word, and
the husband and the wife were together for hours.

"Do you think she is well," said Lord George to the Dean in the course
of the afternoon.

"Well? why shouldn't she be well!"

"In this condition I take it one never quite knows."

"I should say there isn't a young woman in England in better general
health. I never knew her to be ill in my life since she had the
measles."

"I thought she seemed flushed."

"No doubt,--at seeing you."

"I suppose she ought to see the doctor."

"See a fiddlestick. If she's not fretted she won't want a doctor till
the time comes when the doctor will be with her whether she wants him
or not. There's nothing so bad as coddling. Everybody knows that now.
The great thing is to make her happy."

There came a cloud across Lord George's brow as this was said,--a cloud
which he could not control, though, as he had hurried across the park
on horseback, he had made up his mind to be happy and good-humoured. He
certainly had cared very much. He had spoken no word on the subject to
anyone, but he had been very much disappointed when he had been married
twelve months and no hope of an heir had as yet been vouchsafed to him.
When his brother had alluded to the matter, he had rebuked even his
brother. He had never ventured to ask a question even of his wife. But
he had been himself aware of his own bitter disappointment. The reading
of his wife's letter had given him a feeling of joy keener than any he
had before felt. For a moment he had been almost triumphant. Of course
he would go to her. That distast