But the change was surely too abrupt to be accounted for on this hypothesis.  Would Roger, my pattern of courtesy—­Roger, who shrinks from hurting the meanest beggar’s feelings—­would he, in such plain terms, have deplored and wished undone our marriage, if it were only suffering to himself that it had entailed?  Has his unselfish chivalry gone the way of Algy’s brotherly love?  Impossible! the more I think of it, the more unlikely it seems—­the more certain it appears to me that I must look elsewhere for the cause of the alteration that has so heavily darkened my day.

I have risen, and am walking quickly up and down.  I have shaken off my stolid apathy, or, rather, it has fallen off of itself.  Can she have told him any ill tales of me? any thing to my disadvantage?  Instantly the thought of Musgrave—­the black and heavy thought that is never far from the portals of my mind—­darts across me, and, at the same instant, like a flash of lightning, the recollection of my meeting her on the fatal evening, just as (with tear-stained, swollen face) I had parted from Frank—­of the alert and lively interest in her eyes, as she bowed and smiled to me, flames with sudden illumination into my soul.  Still I can hardly credit it.  It would, no doubt, be pleasant to her to sow dissension between us, but would even she dare to carry ill tales of a wife to a husband?  And even supposing that she had, would he attach so much importance to my being seen with wet cheeks?  I, who cry so easily—­ I, who wept myself nearly blind when Jacky caught his leg in the snare?  If he thinks so much of that part of the tale, what would he think of the rest?

As I make this reflection I shudder, and again congratulate myself on my silence.  For beyond our parting, and my tears, it is impossible that she can have told him aught.

Men are not prone to publish their own discomfitures; even I know that much.  I exonerate Mr. Musgrave from all share in making it known—­and have the mossed tree-trunks lips? or the loud brook an articulate tongue?  Thank God! thank God! no! Nature never blabs.  With infinite composure, with a most calm smile she listens, but she never tells again.

A little reassured by this thought, I resolve to remain in doubt no longer than I can help, but to ascertain, if necessary, by direct inquiry, whether my suspicions are correct.  This determination is no sooner come to than it puts fresh life and energy into my limbs.  I take off my hat and jacket, smooth my hair, and prepare with some alacrity for luncheon.