n, don't stand it. But why? Isn't he a nice fellow?"

"Oh yes, he's very _nice_. But he seems to--sort of think you neglect
me."

"But other men go away, for months at a time, shooting big game, or
anything of that sort. Only shows he doesn't know.... _What_ an ass he
must be!" Chetwode's voice showed slight irritation.

"No he's not. He was quite disappointed that you came home the other
night when Savile went to fetch you. He went away at once."

"Poor chap!--Well, ask him to dinner," relented Chetwode.

She got up and went close to him. "You're hopeless! Chetwode, do you
really care for me--or do you like your curiosities and things better?"

Lord Chetwode looked slightly nervous. His one mortal horror was
anything that bore the most distant resemblance to a scene.

"My dear child, why, surely you know you are far and away the most
beautiful thing _I_ am ever likely to have in my collection!" he said,
most admiringly.

She turned away. She was terribly hurt; in her heart she had always
feared her husband regarded her as a bibelot. The subject was, to her,
too painful to discuss further. That he was sure of her--that showed
knowledge of her--that she deserved. But he ought to have _minded about
little things_ as she would. And he ought not always to be satisfied to
leave her safe as the gem of the collection--and just come and look at
it sometimes.

Chetwode returned to the catalogue, and then said, "Of course you know
I'm going to Teignmouth's for a week."

"And you don't want _me_ to go?"

"It's a man's party, darling! Only a week."

"But wouldn't you like me to go racing with you sometimes? I would. I
should love to."

He looked up lazily. "I don't think a racecourse is the place for a
woman. I like you better here. Of course, come if you like. Whenever you
like. Would you like to see Princess Ida run?"

"No, thanks.--Shall you be home to lunch?"

"Yes, I dare say I shall. Are you lunching at home?"

"I was going to Vera's, but I'd rather stay at home--for you."

"Oh, don't do that, dear," he said decidedly. "I may look in at
White's."

"Well, when shall I see you?"

"Why this evening, of course. Aren't we going to the opera, or
something?" he asked.

"Is it great agony for you to sit out Wagner?" She showed real sympathy.
"It's Tannhaeuser, you know."

"Can't say I'm keen about it," he answered in a depressed voice.

"If you _like_," she said, slightly piqued, "I could easily go with
S