‘They’re not often disturbed nowadays, these solid old fellows.’

‘But I suppose you like to have them about you?’ Alma replied carelessly, as she glanced at the shelves.

‘Why, yes, they’re good furniture; help to warm the room.’

‘No doubt they do,’ Alma replied.  ’It’s always more comfortable here than in the drawing-room.’

Daily he asked himself whether she was reconciled to the loss of her ambitions, and he could not feel any certainty.  In the present state of her health it might be natural for her to acquiesce in a humdrum life; but when the next few months were over, and she found herself once more able to move about as she pleased, would her mind remain the same?  Happy she was not, and probably nothing in his power to do could make her so.  Marriage rarely means happiness, either for man or woman; if it be not too grievous to be borne, one must thank the fates and take courage.  But Harvey had a troublesome conscience.  In acting with masculine decision, with the old-fashioned authority of husbands, he had made himself doubly responsible for any misery that might come to Alma through the conditions of her life.  It might be that, on the higher plane of reasoning, he was by no means justified; there might have been found a middle way, which, whilst guarding Alma from obvious dangers, still left her free to enjoy and to aspire.  What he had done was very much like the clipping of wings.  Practically it might be needful, and of safe result; but there is a world beyond the barnyard, for all that; and how should he know, with full assurance, whether Alma had not suffered a grave wrong!  He durst not reopen the discussion with her.  He had taken his stand, and must hold it, or lose all self-respect.  Marriage is like life itself, easiest to those who think least about it.  Rolfe knew that well enough, and would gladly have acted upon the knowledge; he came nearest to doing so at the times when Hughie was his companion.  Relieved by the nursemaid from duties she had only borne by the exertion of something like heroism, Alma once more drew a broad line of demarcation between nursery and drawing-room; it was seldom she felt in a mood for playing with the child, and she had no taste for ‘going walks’.  But Harvey could not see too much of the little boy, indoors or out, and it rejoiced him to know that his love was returned in full measure; for Hughie would at any time abandon other amusements to be with his father.  In these winter months, when by rare chance there came a fine Saturday or Sunday, they went off together to Kew or Richmond, and found endless matter for talk, delightful to both of them.  Hughie, now four years old, was well grown, and could walk two or three miles without weariness.  He had no colour in his cheeks, and showed the nervous tendencies which were to be expected in a child of such parentage, but on the whole his health gave no cause for uneasiness.  If anything chanced to ail him, Harvey suffered an