.

Silence came eventually, and then, after a while, in quite a humble
voice, Augustus said:

"I say, little woman--er--you won't tell the mater--er--will you?"

Something touched me in his face--his common, unpleasant face. The
bluster was gone and there was a piteousness in it. I felt a slight
lump in my throat.

"Oh no; do not fear," I said.

Then he called me an angel and kissed me many times, and that was the
worst of all.

Oh! When the year is up, will the "monotonous complacency" have set
in?

V

The days are flying by. October has almost come, and the damp and the
falling leaves. It will soon be time for Mrs. Gurrage to depart for
Bournemouth.

Augustus is in a continual ferment, as the report that the rest of
the Tilchester Yeomanry are going to volunteer for active service has
cropped up frequently, and, while he likes the uniform and what he
considers the prestige of belonging to such a corps, he has no ardor
for using his weapons against the Boers.

I have tried very hard to take an interest in the matter, but the
numbness has returned. The oppression of the surroundings at Ledstone
cramps my spirit.

We have had several "parties"--batches of Gurrage relations--one or
two really awful people. And some days ago I was bidden to write and
invite the guests for the first big partridge drive.

"The mater will be gone to Bournemouth," Augustus said, "and you'll
have to stand on your own legs."

Matrimony has not cured him of his habit of using horrid phrases.

He has often been very rude to me lately, and has taken to going more
frequently to town for the day, and stays away for a night or two
sometimes.

These seem to me as holidays, and I have never thought of asking him
where he has been, although he comes back with an apologetic air of a
guilty school-boy which ought to excite my jealousy, I feel sure.

During these absences his mother looks uneasy and has once or twice
asked me if I know where he is.

My books have come--quantities of books!--and I spend hours in my
boudoir, never lifting my eyes from the pages to be distracted by the
glaring, mustard-brocade walls around me.

Mrs. Gurrage treats me with respect. There is a gradual but complete
change in her manner to me, from what cause I do not know. I am
invariably polite to her and consider all her wishes, and she often
tells me she is very proud of me; but all trace of the familiarity she
exercised towards me in the begi