f-effacing.

Yet she wondered, too, if she was right, when she saw his fox-terrier
watching him, ever watching him with his big brown eyes as he buoyantly
worked, and saw him stoop to pat its head. Or was this, after all, mere
animalism, mere superficial vitality, love of health and being? She
shuddered, and shut her eyes, for it came home to her that to him she
was just such a being of health, vitality and comeliness, on a little
higher plane. She put the thought from her, but it had had its birth,
and it would not down. He had immense vitality, he was tireless, and
abundant in work and industry; he went from one thing to another with
ease and swiftly changing eagerness. Was it all mere force--mere man and
mind? Was there no soul behind it? There in the laboratory she had
laid her hand on the terrier, and prayed in her heart that she might
understand him for her own good, her own happiness, and his. Above all
else she wanted to love him truly, and to be loved truly, and duty was
to her a daily sacrifice, a constant memorial. She realised to the full
that there lay before her a long race unilluminated by the sacred lamp
which, lighted at the altar, should still be burning beside the grave.

Now, as she thought of him, she kept saying to herself: "We should have
worked out his life together. Work together would have brought peace. He
shuts me out--he shuts me out."

At last she drew the bow across the instrument, once, twice, and then
she began to play, forgetful of the world. She had a contralto voice,
and she sang with a depth of feeling and a delicate form worthy of a
professional; on the piano she was effective and charming, but into the
'cello she poured her soul.

For quite an hour she played with scarce an interruption. At last, with
a sigh, she laid the instrument against her knee and gazed out of the
window. As she sat lost in her dream--a dream of the desert--a servant
entered with letters. One caught her eye. It was from Egypt--from
her cousin Lacey. Her heart throbbed violently, yet she opened the
official-looking envelope with steady fingers. She would not admit even
to her self that news from the desert could move her so. She began to
read slowly, but presently, with a little cry, she hastened through the
pages. It ran:

THE SOUDAN.

DEAR LADY COUSIN,

I'm still not certain how I ought to style you, but I thought I'd
compromise as per above. Anyway, it's a sure thing