’Yes, yes.  He left love and regret, and all that sort of thing for you.  Now let me get on with my story:  he found Cynthia alone, proposed to her, and was accepted.’

‘Cynthia?  Roger proposed to her, and she accepted him?’ repeated Mr Gibson, slowly.

’Yes, to be sure.  Why not? you speak as if it was something so very surprising.’

’Did I?  But I am surprised.  He is a very fine young fellow, and I wish Cynthia joy; but do you like it?  It will have to be a very long engagement.’

‘Perhaps,’ said she, in a knowing manner.

‘At any rate he will be away for two years,’ said Mr. Gibson.

‘A great deal may happen in two years,’ she replied.

’Yes! he will have to run many risks, and go into many dangers, and will come back no nearer to the power of maintaining a wife than when he went out.’

‘I don’t know that,’ she replied, still in the arch manner of one possessing superior knowledge.  ’A little bird did tell me that Osborne’s life is not so very secure; and then—­what will Roger be?  Heir to the estate.’

‘Who told you that about Osborne?’ said he, facing round upon her, and frightening her with his sudden sternness of voice and manner.  It seemed as if absolute fire came out of his long dark sunken eyes. ‘Who told you, I say?’

She made a faint rally back into her former playfulness.

‘Why? can you deny it?  Is it not the truth?’

’I ask you again, Hyacinth, who told you that Osborne Hamley’s life is in more danger than mine—­or yours?’

’Oh, don’t speak in that frightening way.  My life is not in danger, I’m sure; nor yours either, love, I hope.’

He gave an impatient movement, and threw a wine-glass off the table.  For the moment she felt grateful for the diversion, and busied herself in picking up the fragments:  ‘bits of glass were so dangerous,’ she said.  But she was startled by a voice of command, such as she had never yet heard from her husband.

’Never mind the glass.  I ask you again, Hyacinth, who told you anything about Osborne Hamley’s state of health?’

’I am sure I wish no harm to him, and I daresay he is in very good health, as you say,’ whispered she, at last.

‘Who told—?’ began he again, sterner than ever.

‘Well, if you will know, and will make such a fuss about it,’ said she, driven to extremity, ’it was you yourself—­you or Dr Nicholls, I am sure I forget which.’

’I never spoke to you on the subject, and I don’t believe Nicholls did.  You had better tell me at once what you are alluding to, for I’m resolved I’ll have it out before we leave this room.’

‘I wish I’d never married again,’ she said, now fairly crying, and looking round the room, as if in vain search for a mouse-hole in which to hide herself.  Then, as if the sight of the door into the store-room gave her courage, she turned and faced him.