nature so profoundly, and throws upon personal
relations a stress greater than they have ever borne before. Under
cosmopolitanism, if it comes, we shall receive no help from the earth.
Trees and meadows and mountains will only be a spectacle, and the
binding force that they once exercised on character must be entrusted to
Love alone. May Love be equal to the task!

"It is now what?" continued Henry. "Nearly October. Let us camp for the
winter at Ducie Street, and look out for something in the spring."

"If possible, something permanent. I can't be as young as I was, for
these alterations don't suit me."

"But, my dear, which would you rather have--alterations or rheumatism?"

"I see your point," said Margaret, getting up. "If Oniton is really
damp, it is impossible, and must be inhabited by little boys. Only, in
the spring, let us look before we leap. I will take warning by Evie,
and not hurry you. Remember that you have a free hand this time.
These endless moves must be bad for the furniture, and are certainly
expensive."

"What a practical little woman it is! What's it been reading?
Theo--theo--how much?"

"Theosophy."

So Ducie Street was her first fate--a pleasant enough fate. The house,
being only a little larger than Wickham Place, trained her for the
immense establishment that was promised in the spring. They were
frequently away, but at home life ran fairly regularly. In the
morning Henry went to business, and his sandwich--a relic this of some
prehistoric craving--was always cut by her own hand. He did not rely
upon the sandwich for lunch, but liked to have it by him in case he grew
hungry at eleven. When he had gone, there was the house to look after,
and the servants to humanise, and several kettles of Helen's to keep on
the boil. Her conscience pricked her a little about the Basts; she
was not sorry to have lost sight of them. No doubt Leonard was worth
helping, but being Henry's wife, she preferred to help some one else. As
for theatres and discussion societies, they attracted her less and
less. She began to "miss" new movements, and to spend her spare time
re-reading or thinking, rather to the concern of her Chelsea friends.
They attributed the change to her marriage, and perhaps some deep
instinct did warn her not to travel further from her husband than
was inevitable. Yet the main cause lay deeper still; she had outgrown
stimulants, and was passing from words to things. It was doubtless a
pity