o improvement of health. The enthusiasm with which
Rhoda Nunn had inspired her appeared only in fitful affectations of
interest when Monica pressed her concerning the projected undertaking
down in Somerset. In general she had a dreamy, reticent look, and
became uncomfortable when any one gazed at her inquiringly. Her talk
was of the most insignificant things; this afternoon she spent nearly
half an hour in describing a kitten which Mrs. Conisbee had given her;
care of the little animal appeared to have absorbed her whole attention
for many days past.

Another visitor to-day was Mr. Newdick, the City clerk who had been
present at Monica's wedding. He and Mrs. Luke Widdowson were the sole
friends of her husband that Monica had seen. Mr. Newdick enjoyed coming
to Herne Hill. Always lugubrious to begin with, he gradually cheered
up, and by the time for departure was loquacious. But he had the oddest
ideas of talk suitable to a drawing-room. Had he been permitted, he
would have held forth to Monica by the hour on the history of the
business firm which he had served for a quarter of a century. This
subject alone could animate him. His anecdotes were as often as not
quite unintelligible, save to people of City experience. For all that
Monica did not dislike the man; he was a good, simple, unselfish
fellow, and to her he behaved with exaggeration of respect.

A few days later Monica had a sudden fit of illness. Her marriage, and
the long open-air holiday, had given her a much healthier appearance
than when she was at the shop; but this present disorder resembled the
attack she had suffered in Rutland Street. Widdowson hoped that it
signified a condition for which he was anxiously waiting. That,
however, did not seem to be the case. The medical man who was called in
asked questions about the patient's mode of life. Did she take enough
exercise? Had she wholesome variety of occupation? At these inquiries
Widdowson inwardly raged. He was tormented with a suspicion that they
resulted from something Monica had said to the doctor.

She kept her bed for three or four days, and on rising could only sit
by the fireside, silent, melancholy. Widdowson indulged his hope,
though Monica herself laughed it aside, and even showed annoyance if he
return to the subject. Her temper was strangely uncertain; some chance
word in a conversation would irritate her beyond endurance, and after
an outburst of petulant displeasure she became obstinately