look over the letters at once--but this doesn't
interest you?"

"Indeed it does."

He made that considerate reply mechanically, as if thinking of something
else. She was afraid to tell him plainly that she saw this; but she
could venture to say that he was not looking well. "I have noticed it
for some time past," she confessed. "You have been accustomed to live in
the country; I am afraid London doesn't agree with you."

He admitted that she might be right; still speaking absently, still
thinking of the Divorce. She laid the packet of letters and the poor
relics of the old song-book on the table, and bent over him. Tenderly,
and a little timidly, she put her arm around his neck. "Let us try some
purer air," she suggested; "the seaside might do you good. Don't you
think so?"

"I daresay, my dear. Where shall we go?"

"Oh, I leave that to you."

"No, Sydney. It was I who proposed coming to London. You shall decide
this time."

She submitted, and promised to think of it. Leaving him, with the first
expression of trouble that had shown itself in her face, she took up
the songs and put them into the pocket of her dress. On the point of
removing the letters next, she noticed the newspaper on the table.
"Anything interesting to-day?" she asked--and drew the newspaper toward
her to look at it. He took it from her suddenly, almost roughly. The
next moment he apologized for his rudeness. "There is nothing worth
reading in the paper," he said, after begging her pardon. "You don't
care about politics, do you?"

Instead of answering, she looked at him attentively.

The heightened color which told of recent exercise, healthily enjoyed,
faded from her face. She was silent; she was pale. A little confused, he
smiled uneasily. "Surely," he resumed, trying to speak gayly, "I haven't
offended you?"

"There is something in the newspaper," she said, "which you don't want
me to read."

He denied it--but he still kept the newspaper in his own possession. Her
voice sank low; her face turned paler still.

"Is it all over?" she asked. "And is it put in the newspaper?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the Divorce."

He went back again to the window and looked out. It was the easiest
excuse that he could devise for keeping his face turned away from her.
She followed him.

"I don't want to read it, Herbert. I only ask you to tell me if you are
a free man again."

Quiet as it was, her tone left him no alternative but to treat he