"

"No, wise--wise is the word," says Mrs. Bethune.

Her eyes are still downcast. It seems to Margaret that she is
inwardly convulsed with laughter.

"Well, wise or not, we lived in harmony," says Lady Rylton with a
sigh and a prolonged sniff at her scent-bottle. "With us it was
peace to the end."

"Certainly; it was peace _at_ the end," says Mrs. Bethune solemnly.

It was, indeed, a notorious thing that the late Sir Maurice had
lived in hourly fear of his wife, and had never dared to contradict
her on any subject, though he was a man of many inches, and she one
of the smallest creatures on record.

"True! true! _You_ knew him so well!" says Lady Rylton, hiding her
eyes behind the web of a handkerchief she is holding. One tear would
have reduced it to pulp. "And when he was----" She pauses.

"Was dead?" says Margaret kindly, softly.

"Oh, _don't,_ dear Margaret, _don't!"_ says Lady Rylton, with a
tragical start. "That dreadful word! One should never mention death!
It is so rude! He, your poor uncle--he _left_ us with the sweetest
resignation on the 18th of February, 1887."

"I never _saw_ such resignation," says Mrs. Bethune, with deep
emphasis.

She casts a glance at Margaret, who, however, refuses to have
anything to do with it. But, for all that, Mrs. Bethune is clearly
enjoying herself. She can never, indeed, refrain from sarcasm, even
when her audience is unsympathetic.

"Yes, yes; he was resigned," says Lady Rylton, pressing her
handkerchief to her nose.

"So much so, that one might almost think he was _glad_ to go," says
Mrs. Bethune, nodding her head with beautiful sympathy.

She is now shaking with suppressed laughter.

"Yes; glad. It is such a comfort to dwell on it," says Lady Rylton,
still dabbing her eyes. "He was happy--quite happy when he left me."

"I never saw anyone so happy," says Mrs. Bethune.

Her voice sounds choking; no doubt it is emotion. She rises and goes
to the window. The emotion seems to have got into her shoulders.

"All which proves," goes on Lady Rylton, turning to Margaret, "that
a marriage based on friendship, even between two young people, is
often successful."

"But surely in your case there was love on one side," says Miss
Knollys, a little impatiently. "My uncle----"

"Oh, he _adored_ me!" cries she ecstatically, throwing up her pretty
hands, her vanity so far overcoming her argument that she grows
inconsistent. "You know," with a little simper, "I was a be