nt. Yielding it the more
readily from the consciousness above spoken of.

"There's my dear Lionel! I knew you would never turn tyrant. And now I
want something else."

"What's that?" asked Lionel.

"A cheque."

"A cheque? I gave you one this morning, Sibylla."

"Oh! but the one you gave me is for housekeeping--for Mary Tynn, and all
that. I want one for myself. I am not going to have my expenses come out
of the housekeeping."

Lionel sat down to write one, a good-natured smile on his face. "I'm
sure I don't know what you will find to spend it in, after all the
finery you bought in Paris," he said, in a joking tone. "How much shall
I fill it in for?"

"As much as you will," replied Sibylla, too eagerly. "Couldn't you give
it me in blank, and let me fill it in?"

He made no answer. He drew it for L100, and gave it her.

"Will that do, my dear?"

She drew his face down again caressingly. But, in spite of the kisses
left upon his lips, Lionel had awoke to the conviction, firm and
undoubted, that his wife did not love him.

CHAPTER XLVI.

SHADOWED-FORTH EMBARRASSMENT.

The September afternoon sun streamed into the study at Verner's Pride,
playing with the bright hair of Lionel Verner. His head was bending
listlessly over certain letters and papers on his table, and there was a
wearied look upon his face. Was it called up by the fatigue of the day?
He had been out with some friends in the morning; it was the first day
of partridge shooting, and they had bagged well. Now Lionel was home
again, had changed his attire, and was sitting down in his study--the
old study of Mr. Verner. Or, was the wearied look, were the indented
upright lines between the eyes, called forth by inward care?

Those lines were not so conspicuous when you last saw him. Twelve or
fourteen months have elapsed since then. A portion of that time only had
been spent at Verner's Pride. Mrs. Verner was restless; ever wishing to
be on the wing; living but in gaiety. Her extravagance was something
frightful, and Lionel did not know how to check it. There were no
children; there had been no signs of any; and Mrs. Verner positively
made the lack into a sort of reproach, a continual cause for
querulousness.

She had filled Verner's Pride with guests after their marriage--as she
had coveted to do. From that period until early spring she had kept it
filled, one succession of guests, one relay of visitors arriving after
the other. Pretty, c