“I hope you may have better luck with it than I had,” said Julian.

“Oh, your time is yet to come.  And it’s very likely I shall be no better off.  There are things in the book which will scarcely recommend it to the British parent.  But it shall be published, if it is at my own expense.  If it comes to the worst, I shall sell my mining shares to Woodstock.”

“After all,” said Julian, smiling, “you are a capitalist.”

“Yes, and much good it does me.”

Since that first evening Julian had refrained from speaking to his wife about Ida, beyond casual remarks and questions which could carry no significance.  Harriet likewise had been silent.  As far as could be observed, however, she seemed to take a pleasure in Ida’s society, and, as Julian said, with apparently good result to herself.  She was more at home than formerly, and her health even seemed to profit by the change.  Still, there was something not altogether natural in all this, and Julian could scarcely bring himself to believe in the happy turn things seemed to be taking.  In Harriet herself there was no corresponding growth of cheerfulness or good-nature.  She was quiet, but with a quietness not altogether pleasant; it was as though her thoughts were constantly occupied, as never hitherto; and her own moral condition was hardly likely to be the subject of these meditations.  Julian, when he sat reading, sometimes became desperately aware of her eyes being fixed on him for many minutes at a time.  Once, on this happening, he looked up with a smile.

“What is it, dear?” he asked, turning round to her.  “You are very quiet.  Shall I put away the book and talk?”

“No; I’m all right.”

“You’ve been much better lately, haven’t you?” he said, taking her hand playfully.  “Let me feel your pulse; you know I’m half a doctor.”

She drew it away peevishly.  But Julian, whom a peaceful hour had made full of kindness, went on in the same gentle way.

“You don’t know how happy it makes me to see you and Ida such good friends.  I was sure it would be so.  Don’t you feel there is something soothing in her society?  She speaks so gently, and always brings a sort of sunshine with her.”

Harriet’s lips curled, very slightly, but she said nothing.

“When are you going to see her again?  It’s hardly fair to let the visiting be always on her side, is it?”

“I shall go when I feel able.  Perhaps to-morrow.”

Julian presently went back to his book again.  If he could have seen the look Harriet turned upon him when his face was averted, he would not have read so calmly.

That same evening Harriet herself was the subject of a short conversation between Ida and Waymark, as they sat together in the usual way.

“I fear there will never be anything like confidence between us,” Ida was saying.  “Do you know that I am sometimes almost afraid of her; sometimes she looks and speaks as if she hated me.”