glance at Dick showed her the futility of such
hopes. He was a dear; that at once was obvious to her; and he was
delightful looking; his small head well set on broad shoulders, his
short nose expressive of courage and character; his grey eyes as free
from all malice and uncharitableness as they were from introspection.
But he was a boy, a kind, good boy, an ingenuous, well-mannered
materialist, living, as it were, by automatic functions, and as
incapable of spiritual initiative as he was of evil. What ground of
meeting could there be between him and her Milly, compact as she was of
subtleties, profundities and possibilities? No; Dick offered no
materials for the building of a shrine, and unless marriage was a shrine
Christina could not contemplate it. There had been a deep instinct, like
one of nature's cruel yet righteous laws, in Milly's withdrawal; to have
consented, to have compromised, would have been to stifle and stultify
herself.

Christina so justified her, and yet it pained her that Milly, in her
treatment of her husband, should be almost unbeautiful. The streak of
hardness, almost of cruelty, like nature's own, showing itself in her
darling, distressed her. She did not care so much about Dick's very
problematic discomfort. He showed none; he talked with great good
spirits, made cheerful, obvious jokes and looked eminently sane, fresh
and picturesque in his out-of-door attire. Yet even he must know that
every fibre of Milly's face, every tone of her voice, expressed her
indifference and her oppression. "Really, dear, you are not kind,"
Christina protested. Milly opened innocent eyes. "You think I'm wrong
about Dick?"

"Not wrong about him; wrong to him. Surely, just because you are so
right in what you feel to be impossibility, you can afford to be kind."

"You think I behave badly to Dick? Oh, Christina!--you are displeased
with me?"

They were very sincere with each other, these two, and bared their souls
to each other relentlessly.

"Only because you are so dear to me, Milly." Mrs. Drent flushed a little
as she looked tenderly at her friend. "Only because I want to see you
always right, exquisitely right. You make me uncomfortable when you are
not. He has done you no wrong. Why should you treat him as you did this
morning, using me as a foil to show him his own stupidity? Not that I
do find him stupid, Milly; only very, very simple."

"I know it! Oh, I know it!" Milly wailed. "If only he had done me