st a becoming colour, and the feather was a beauty,--so thick
and long and gracefully curved. Reduced in height, pressed into a less
noticeable shape, the hat might turn out not a discreditable purchase
after all. She felt a distinct relief at the thought that after to-day
she would see the reflection of that blue feather in the innumerable
mirrors which lined the streets.

After tea Mary went into the Park and sat on a chair, watching the
stream of fashionable life flow to and fro. She wished she had someone
with her to explain who was who, and was on the whole disappointed with
the appearance of the crowd, but the flowers were beautiful. She
determined to come again in the morning, and enjoy the flowers
undisturbed by the bustling crowd. All the chairs were occupied; the
moment that they were vacated they were instantly seized by other
loiterers, who appeared to have been waiting for the chance. A man and
woman seated themselves by Mary's side, and fell into conversation with
an absolute disregard of her presence. A few moments sufficed to prove
that they were husband and wife, but they belonged to widely different
types. The woman had a worn, handsome face, and a figure fashionably
attenuated. She was faultlessly attired, and with a royal disregard of
cost, but both voice and manner betrayed a ceaseless discontent. Every
word was a grumble in disguise, reference to events past and to come
were invariably supplemented by protestations of being "bored to death,"
and all the time the big, jovial-looking husband smiled, and soothed,
and skilfully steered the way on to subjects new. There was no effort
in his air; if there had been a time when his wife's grumblings had
power to distress him, that time was past, now the tricklings of the
thin voice flowed off him, like water from a duck's back. He listened,
laughed, and began again. Mary realised with a thrill of surprise that
this man actually loved the bundle of nerves whom he called his wife.
There was no mistaking the fact. There was love in his voice, in his
face, in the sound of the deep, kindly laugh. He loved her, was proud
of her, found pleasure in her society. She watched the couple move away
at the end of a quarter of an hour, the wife languidly leading the way
through the crowd, the man following, his eyes bent on her in proud
approval, and afterwards for long minutes she sat pondering on the
nature of the tie which held a man's heart faithful to