“Pray do not begin to talk about religion, Ned.”

“My way of thinking is too robust for Marian, Miss McQuinch.  I admit that it does not, at first sight, seem pretty or sentimental.  But I do not know how even Marian can prefer the church bells to Bach.”

“What do you mean by ’even Marian’?” said Elinor, sharply.

“I should have said, ’Marian, who is tolerant and kind to everybody and everything.’  I hope you have forgiven me for carrying her off from you, Miss McQuinch.  You are adopting an ominous tone toward me.  I fear she has been telling you of our quarrels, and my many domestic shortcomings.”

“No,” said Elinor.  “As far as I can judge from her account, you are a monotonously amiable husband.”

“Indeed!  Hm!  Would you like your coffee out here?”

“Yes.”

“Do not stir, Marian:  I will ring for it.”

When he was gone, Marian said “Nelly:  for Heaven’s sake say nothing that could make the slightest coldness between Ned and me.  I am clinging to him with all my heart and soul; and you must help me.  Those sharp things that you say to him stab me cruelly; and he is clever enough to guess everything I have said to you from them.”

“If I cannot keep myself from making mischief, I shall go away,” said Elinor.  “Dont suppose I am in a huff:  I am quite serious.  I have an unlucky tongue; and my disposition is such that when I see that a jug is cracked, I feel more inclined to smash and have done with it than to mend it and handle it tenderly ever after.  However, I hope your marriage is not a cracked jug yet.”

CHAPTER XIII

On the following Wednesday Douglas called on his mother at Manchester Square in the afternoon.  As if to emphasize the purely filial motive of his visit, he saluted his mother so affectionately that she was emboldened to be more demonstrative with him than she usually ventured to be.

“My darling boy,” she said, holding him fondly for a moment, “this is the second visit you have paid your poor old mother this week.  I want to speak to you about something, too.  Marian has been with me this morning.”

“What!  Has she gone?” said Douglas.

“Why?” said Mrs. Douglas.  “Did you know she was coming?”

“She mentioned to me that she intended to come,” he replied, carelessly; “but she bade me not to tell you.”

“That accounts for your two visits.  Well, Sholto, I do not blame you for spending your time in gayer places than this.”

“You must not reproach me for neglecting you, mother.  You know my disposition.  I am seldom good company for any one; and I do not care to come only to cast a damp on you and your friends when I am morose.  I hope you received Marian kindly.”

“I did not expect to see her; and I told her so.”

“Mother!”

“But it made no difference.  There is no holding her in check now, Sholto; she cares no more for what I say than if I was her father or you.  What could I do but kiss and forgive her?  She got the better of me.”