thing he had done.  Then he would go upstairs, and have, first a cup of coffee, and then a cup of tea.  He would read his newspaper, open a book or two, hide his face when he yawned, and try to make believe that he liked it.  She had no signs or words of love for him.  She never sat on his knee, or caressed him.  She never showed him that any happiness had come to her in being allowed to live close to him.  They thought that they loved each other:—­each thought so; but there was no love, no sympathy, no warmth.  The very atmosphere was cold,—­so cold that no fire could remove the chill.

In what way would it have been different had Lily Dale sat opposite to him there as his wife, instead of Lady Alexandrina?  He told himself frequently that either with one or with the other life would have been the same; that he had made himself for a while unfit for domestic life, and that he must cure himself of that unfitness.  But though he declared this to himself in one set of half-spoken thoughts, he would also declare to himself in another set, that Lily would have made the whole house bright with her brightness; that had he brought her home to his hearth, there would have been a sun shining on him every morning and every evening.  But, nevertheless, he strove to do his duty, and remembered that the excitement of official life was still open to him.  From eleven in the morning till five in the afternoon he could still hold a position which made it necessary that men should regard him with respect, and speak to him with deference.  In this respect he was better off than his wife, for she had no office to which she could betake herself.

“Yes,” she said to Amelia, “it is all very nice, and I don’t mind the house being damp; but I get so tired of being alone.”

“That must be the case with women who are married to men of business.”

“Oh, I don’t complain.  Of course I knew what I was about.  I suppose it won’t be so very dull when everybody is up in London.”

“I don’t find the season makes much difference to us after Christmas,” said Amelia; “but no doubt London is gayer in May.  You’ll find you’ll like it better next year; and perhaps you’ll have a baby, you know.”

“Psha!” ejaculated Lady Alexandrina; “I don’t want a baby, and don’t suppose I shall have one.”

“It’s always something to do, you know.”

Lady Alexandrina, though she was not of an energetic temperament, could not but confess to herself that she had made a mistake.  She had been tempted to marry Crosbie because Crosbie was a man of fashion, and now she was told that the London season would make no difference to her,—­the London season which had hitherto always brought to her the excitement of parties, if it had not given her the satisfaction of amusement.  She had been tempted to marry because it appeared to her that a married woman could enjoy society with less restraint than a girl who was subject to her mother or her chaperon; that she would have more freedom of action as a married woman; and now she was told that she must wait for a baby before she could have anything to do.  Courcy Castle was sometimes dull, but Courcy Castle would have been better than this.