hich was too
much a tangle for anything but moonlight and June to give it beauty,
Lady Dacre sprang up, interrupting her husband in one of his remarks,
and declaring it a shame to stay indoors such a night.

"Give me your arm," she said to Archdale, "and let us take a turn out
here. We don't want you, Temple; we want to talk."

Sir Temple, serenely sure of hearing, before he slept, the purport of
any conversation that his wife might have had, took up a book which he
had brought with him. He was an excellent traveler in regard to one kind
of luggage; the same book lasted him a good while.

Lady Dacre moved off with Stephen. They went out of the house and down
the walk. She commented on the neglected appearance of things until
Stephen asked her if weeds were peculiar to the American soil. In answer
she struck him lightly with her fan and walked on laughing. But when
they reached the end of the garden, she turned upon him suddenly.

"Now tell me," she said.

"Tell you what?"

"Tell me what, indeed! What a speech for a lover, a young husband. Has
the light of your honeymoon faded so quickly? Mine has not yet. Tell me
about her, of course, your charming bride."

Stephen came to a dead halt, and stood looking into the smiling eyes
gazing up into his.

"Lady Dacre," he said, "the Mistress Archdale you will find at Seascape
is my mother." Then he gave the history of his intended marriage, and of
that other marriage which might prove real. His listener was more moved
than she liked to show.

"It will all be right," she said tearfully. "But it is dreadful for you,
and for the young ladies, both of them."

"Yes," he answered, "for both of them."

"You know," she began eagerly, "that I am the----?" then she stopped.

Stephen waited courteously for the end of the sentence that was never to
be finished. He felt no curiosity at her sudden breaking off; it seemed
to him that curiosity and interest, except on one subject, were over for
him forever.

When Lady Dacre repeated this story to her husband she finished by
saying: "Why do you suppose it is, Temple, that my heart goes out to the
married one?"

"Natural perversity, my dear."

"Then you think she _is_ married?"

"Don't know; it is very probable."

"Poor Archdale!"

Sir Temple burst into a laugh. "Is he poor, Archdale, because you think
he has made the best bargain?"

"No, you heartless man, but because he does not see it. Besides, I
cannot even tell if it