er was such a one. I see the perils and pitfalls in her
way; but I fancy that I am prone to exaggerate them, because I cannot
sympathise with her yearnings. I often condemn her frivolity, but at
the same time I condemn my own severity. I think she is true of
heart,--a loving woman. And she is at any rate your wife."

"You don't suppose that I wish to be rid of her?"

"Certainly not; but in keeping her close to you you must remember that
she has a nature of her own. She cannot feel as you do in all things
any more than you feel as she does."

"One must give way to the other."

"Each must give way to the other if there is to be any happiness."

"You don't mean to say she ought to waltz, or dance stage dances?"

"Let all that go for the present. She won't want to dance much for a
time now, and when she has a baby in her arms she will be more apt to
look at things with your eyes. If I were you I should accept the Dean's
offer."

There was a certain amount of comfort in this, but there was more pain.
His wife had defied him, and it was necessary to his dignity that she
should be brought to submission before she was received into his full
grace. And the Dean had encouraged her in those acts of defiance. They
had, of course, come from him. She had been more her father's daughter
than her husband's wife, and his pride could not endure that it should
be so. Everything had gone against him. Hitherto he had been able to
desire her to leave her father and to join him in his own home. Now he
had no home to which to take her. He had endeavoured to do his
duty,--always excepting that disagreeable episode with Mrs.
Houghton,--and this was the fruit of it. He had tried to serve his
brother, because his brother was Marquis of Brotherton, and his brother
had used him like an enemy. His mother treated him, with steady
injustice. And now his sister told him that he was to yield to the
Dean! He could not bring himself to yield to the Dean. At last he
answered the Dean's letter as follows;--

"MY DEAR DEAN,--

"Your offer is very kind, but I do not think that I can accept it
just at present. No doubt I am very much troubled by my brother's
conduct. I have endeavoured to do my duty by him, and have met
with but a poor return. What arrangements I shall ultimately make
as to a home for myself and Mary, I cannot yet say. When anything
is settled I shall, of course, let her know at once. It will
a