all that she had been doing, both with and
without Cousin Hal's name intermixed;
amongst other things, how kind his mother
was to her, and how agreeable Miss Vaughan
could be when she was not affected and
on stilts; as she was the other day, when
she and his cousin rode over to Croft.

"My mother was right, " said Arthur,
grinding his teeth, "Geraldine has the
common vice of the weak; she is not truthful.
And this letter—boasting of my mother's
kindness, and Miss Vaughan's cordiality, is a
proof of it. I have been a fool. How could
I expect a woman not of my own station to
have the feelings of a thorough-bred gentlewoman,
and to be delicate and faithful under
the coarse lure of such a popinjay as that!
How coldly she writes! She does not even
allude to my long silence. Of course, there
must be separation now: yes, before this
very month is out it must be arranged.
Three months after marriage, and to separate;
what a testimony to the wisdom
of love-matches! If I had that fellow
here——" he continued above his breath,
taking up a table-knife that lay near his
untasted breakfast. Then, with a sudden
impulse, he flung it savagely from him. The
knife fell quiveringly in the door, and for that
moment Arthur was a murderer in his
heart.

Together with Geraldine's letter, lay one
from Mrs. Amphlett, as yet unopened. He
broke the seal almost mechanically, but
drank in every word with thirsty passion, as
soon as he set in fairly to the reading.

"I hope your business is progressing favourably,
and that those perplexing lawyers have nearly come to
the end of obscuring so plain a question as this was.
We shall all be glad to see you at home again, though
indeed I cannot say that your wife has been silly in
fretting for you, as I expected. On the contrary, she
is in higher spirits than ever, and every day adds to her
exuberant happiness. She made even me laugh;
although, as you know, I am not much given to that
exercise; but her manner for these last three days
has been so irresistibly comic when speaking of your
silence, that even I could not help joining in the
general merriment. She is a good mimic, I find; for
in the scenes which she gave—one representing you as
garotted by some of those horrid men, another as run
over by one of Barclay's beer waggons, another as
lying with a splitting headache, calling for soda-water
and ices—she really acted with wonderful spirit
and character. I thought Henry would have gone
into a fit with laughing; and it was really very
droll. Of course I knew that you were perfectly safe,
or else I should not have allowed such levity on her
part; but I have given her of late very great scope,
for the purpose of studying her character; and I think
I have come to the end of what I wanted to know.
Your judgment on Miss Vaughan was, I fear, more
correct than mine. She is a statue. When Geraldine
was acting those scenes, as I tell you, she sat with a
settled frown on her face; and at the end rose very
haughtily, and lectured your wife for her levity and
want of feeling. Henry took Geraldine's part; and
he and Miss Vaughan spoke more truthfully than
politely to each other. At the conclusion of the
argument (which was more properly a wrangle),
Geraldine put her hand in Henry's, and told him to
kiss it, in token of his fealty. But I thought this
going rather too far, and interfered. I desire you not
to take any notice of what I have said. There is
nothing reprehensible in your wife's conduct, and only
Miss Vaughan's excessive prudery would have found
cause of blame in it. If I do not, you need not be
alarmed."

But this last paragraph destroyed Mrs.
Amphlett's whole web. She forgot that, by
giving a tangible shape to the suspicions she
wished only to insinuate, she put the game out
of her own hands. That very night Arthur
left London, his business yet unfinished and
his lawyers busy in still further entangling
a very plain case.

IV.

THE next morning, while the Thornivale
party were quietly seated at breakfast, Arthur
strode into the room like some melodramatic
tyrant: pale, haggard, dark-browed, and
angry. Geraldine, with a glad cry—too glad
to notice her husband's looks—flung herself
into her husband's arms. Henry rose, half
perplexed and half amused; he saw by
Arthur's lowering brow that a storm was
brooding, and—man of the world like—
guessed the cause, instinctively. Mrs. Amphlett,
for the first time in her life, felt
baffled. She had counted on Arthur's
reserve, and in Geraldine's timidity, not to
come to an explanation together.

After a sulky breakfast, Arthur told
Geraldine to accompany him into the park.
He did not ask her—he commanded her;
much as if she had been a slave or a child.

"Let me speak to you first, Arthur,"
said Mrs. Amphlett, trying to be authoritative.

"No!" replied Arthur, sternly; "my
business is with my wife."

"And your cousin too, I suspect," muttered
Cousin Hal to himself.

Arthur and his wife paced down the
broad-walk leading to the beech avenue.
He put aside the little hand that sought to
clasp his silently and moodily. Reaching a
garden-chair he motioned her to seat
herself, while he placed himself by her side.
He was agitated; and, though resolved
to finish all today, did not well know
how to begin. She looked so lovely, and he
was but a young husband, and this their
first meeting after some three weeks of
separation. She had been so unfeignedly glad to
see him, too, and that did not look like coolness:
nor had Cousin Hal looked annoyed or
guilty; and, though he had watched them
—looking for evil—he had not seen a glance
pass between them that wore the shadow of
undue intelligence: they seemed good friends,
as was natural, but there was nothing
more; so that he felt at a loss now; for his
grievances had vanished marvellously.

Geraldine was the first to speak.