ly broken down.

"Oh, Marcus, what shall I do?" she said, when her sobs would allow her
to speak. "I cannot bear it; it is all so dull and miserable. I am
missing mother and I am so tired, and the children have been so cross
all day." And Olivia, whose nerves were on edge with the strain of
grief and worry, looked so pallid and woebegone that Marcus had been
filled with consternation. Never had he seen his sweetheart in such
distress, and then it was that the suggestion came to him.

Why should they both be lonely? Olivia could marry him and do her work
as well, and there need be no more dull evenings for either of them.

"You will trust me to make you as happy as I can, dearest," he said,
tenderly, as he pleaded for an early marriage. And as Olivia listened
to him the sad burden seemed lifted from her heart.

"Are you quite sure we ought to do this, Marcus?" she had asked, a
little dubiously, for in spite of her youth she had plenty of good
sense, and then Marcus had been very ready with his arguments.

A doctor ought to be a married man, his house was too large for a
bachelor, and needed a mistress. What was the use of Olivia paying for
lodgings when he wanted a wife to make him comfortable? And if she
liked she could still go on with her teaching.

It was this last proviso that overcame Olivia's objections. If she
could keep her situation she would be no expense to Marcus. Her salary
was good, and until paying patients came she could subscribe towards
the housekeeping.

It was just one of those arrangements that look so promising and
plausible until fairly tried, but before many months had passed there
was a hitch--something out of gear in the daily machinery.

It was a dry summer, and Brompton is not exactly a bracing place.
Olivia began to flag a little, the long hours of teaching, the hurried
walks to and fro, tried her vigorous young frame. The little maids who
followed each other in quick succession were all equally inefficient
and unreliable. Marcus began to complain that such ill-cooked,
tasteless meals would in time impair their digestion. The Marthas and
Annes and Sallies, who clumped heavily about the corner house, with
smudges on their round faces and bare red arms, had never heard of the
School of Cookery at South Kensington. Olivia, fagged and weary,
looked ready to cry when she saw the blackened steak and unwholesome
chips set before Marcus. Not one man in a thousand, she thought,