“Oh, no,” said his wife, softly, “you never even found out what they were.”

He did not notice the words; it is doubtful whether he heard them.

“It has been my best endeavour to promote your happiness throughout our married life, Mary, so far as I considered it compatible with your highest welfare.  I do not pretend I can enter into the high-flown and romantic feelings engendered by your reprehensible habit of novel-reading.”

“You’ve scolded me so often for that,” said Lady Mary, half mockingly, half sadly.  “Can’t we—­keep to the subject in hand, as you said just now?”

“I have a reason, a strong reason,” said Sir Timothy, “for wishing you to remain at home to-morrow.  I had hoped, by concealing it from you, to spare you some of the painful suspense and anxiety which I am myself experiencing.”

Lady Mary laughed.

“How like a man to suppose a woman is spared anything by being kept in the dark!  I knew something was wrong.  Dr. Blundell and Canon Birch are in your confidence, I presume?  They kept exchanging glances like two mysterious owls.  Your sisters are not, or they would be sighing and shaking their heads.  And John—­John Crewys?  Oh, he is a lawyer.  When does a visitor ever come here except on business?  He has something to do with it.  Ah, to advise you for nothing over your purchase of the Crown lands!  You have got into some difficulty over that, or something of the kind?  You brought him down here for some special purpose, I am sure; but I did not know him well enough, and I knew you too well, to ask why.”

“Mary, what has come to you?  I never knew you quite like this before.  I dislike this extraordinary flippancy of tone very much.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Lady Mary; make allowance for me this once.  I learnt ten minutes ago that my boy was going to the war.  I must either laugh or—­or cry, and you wouldn’t like me to do that; but it’s a way women have when their hearts are half broken.”

“I don’t understand you,” he said helplessly.

Lady Mary looked at him as though she had awakened, frightened, to the consciousness of her own temerity.

“I don’t quite understand myself, I think,” she said, in a subdued voice.  “I won’t torment you any more, Timothy; I will be as calm and collected—­as you wish.  Only let me go.”

“Will you not listen to my reason for wishing you to remain at home?” he said sternly.  “It is an important one.”

“I had forgotten,” she said indifferently.  “How can there be any business in the world half so important to me as seeing my boy once more before he sails?”

The colour of Sir Timothy’s ruddy face deepened almost to purple, his grey eyes glowered sullen resentment at his wife.

“Since you desire to have your way in opposition to my wishes, go!” he thundered.  “I will not hinder you further.”

But his sonorous wrath was too familiar to be impressive.