Surely, he argued with himself, that ought to content the most exacting.  But, in spite of all argument, he was not content.  He did not regret that he had sacrificed his liberty in a freak of romance; he did not even regard the fact of a man in his position having dared to marry a penniless girl as anything very meritorious or heroic; but he had hoped that the dramatic circumstances of the case would be duly recognized by his friends, and that Sheila would be an object of interest and wonder and talk in a whole series of social circles.  But the result of his adventure was different.  There was only one married man the more in London, and London was not disposed to pay any particular heed to that circumstance.

CHAPTER XIII.

BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON.

If Frank Lavender had been told that his love for his wife was in danger of waning, he would have laughed the suggestion to scorn.  He was as fond of her and as proud of her as ever.  Who knew as well as himself the tenderness of her heart, the delicate sensitiveness of her conscience, the generosity of self-sacrifice she was always ready to bestow? and was he likely to become blind, so that he should fail to see how fair and frank and handsome she was?  He had been disappointed, it is true, in his fancies about the impression she would produce on his friends; but what a trifle was that!  The folly of those fancies was his own.  For the rest, he was glad that Sheila was not so different from the other women whom he knew.  He hit upon the profound reflection, as he sat alone in his studio, that a man’s wife, like his costume, should not be so remarkable as to attract attention.  The perfection of dress was that you should be unconscious of its presence:  might that not be so with marriage?  After all, it was better that he had not bound himself to lug about a lion whenever he visited people’s houses.

Still, there was something.  He found himself a good deal alone.  Sheila did not seem to care much for going into society; and although he did not much like the notion of going by himself, nevertheless one had certain duties toward one’s friends to perform.  She did not even care to go down to the Park of a forenoon.  She always professed her readiness to go, but he fancied it was a trifle tiresome for her; and so, when there was nothing particular going on in the studio, he would walk down through Kensington Gardens himself, and have a chat with some friends, followed generally by luncheon with this or the other party of them.  Sheila had been taught that she ought not to come so frequently to that studio.  Bras would not lie quiet.  Moreover, if dealers or other strangers should come in, would they not take her for a model?  So Sheila stayed at home; and Mr. Lavender, after having dressed with care in the morning—­with very singular care, indeed, considering that he was going to his work—­used to go down to his studio to smoke a cigarette.