should see her and her husband
together. And when she met Canon Pountner and stopped a moment in the
street while that worthy divine shook hands with her husband, that was
an additional pleasure to her. The last few weeks had been heavy to her
in spite of her father's affectionate care,--heavy with a feeling of
disgrace from which no well-minded young married woman can quite
escape, when she is separated from her husband. She had endeavoured to
do right. She thought she was doing right. But it was so sad! She was
fond of pleasure, whereas he was little given to any amusement; but no
pleasures could be pleasant to her now unless they were in some sort
countenanced by him. She had never said such a word to a human being,
but since that dancing of the Kappa-kappa she had sworn to herself a
thousand times that she would never waltz again. And she hourly yearned
for his company, having quite got over that first difficulty of her
married life, that doubt whether she could ever learn to love her
husband. During much of this day she was actually happy in spite of the
great sorrow which still weighed so heavily upon them both.

And he liked it also in his way. He thought that he had never seen her
looking more lovely. He was sure that she had never been more gracious
to him. The touch of her hand was pleasant to his arm, and even he had
sufficient spirit of fun about him to enjoy something of the mirth of
her little grimaces. When he told her what her father had said about
Mr. Groschut, even he laughed at her face of assumed disgust. "Papa
doesn't hate him half as much as I do," she said. "Papa always does
forgive at last, but I never can forgive Mr. Groschut."

"What has the poor man done?"

"He is so nasty! Don't you see that his face always shines. Any man
with a shiny face ought to be hated." This was very well to give as a
reason, but Mary entertained a very correct idea as to Mr. Groschut's
opinion of herself.

Not a word had been said between the husband and wife as to the great
question of residence till they had returned to the deanery after their
walk. Then Lord George found himself unable to conceal from her the
offer which the Dean had made. "Oh, George,--why don't you come?"

"It would not be--fitting."

"Fitting! Why not fitting? I think it would fit admirably. I know it
would fit me." Then she leaned over him and took his hand and kissed
it.

"It was very good of your father."

"I am sure he meant to be