ght as was her acquaintance with
him, Polly felt sure this want of courage must displease him; for there
was something very simple and direct about his own way of speaking.

"My dear, why don't you stand up to him?" asked little Polly.

"Dearest, I dare not. If you knew him as I do, Polly.... He TERRIFIES
me.--Oh, what a lucky little woman you are ... to have a husband like
yours."

Polly had recalled these words that very morning as she stood to watch
Richard ride away: never did he forget to kiss her good-bye, or to turn
and wave to her at the foot of the road. Each time she admired afresh
the figure he cut on horseback: he was so tall and slender, and sat so
straight in his saddle. Now, too, he had yielded to her persuasions and
shaved off his beard; and his moustache and side-whiskers were like his
hair, of an extreme, silky blond. Ever since the day of their first
meeting at Beamish's Family Hotel, Polly had thought her husband the
handsomest man in the world. And the best, as well. He had his
peculiarities, of course; but so had every husband; and it was part of
a wife's duty to study them, to adapt herself to them, or to endeavour
to tone them down. And now came these older, wiser ladies and confirmed
her high opinion of him. Polly beamed with happiness at this juncture,
and registered a silent vow always to be the best of wives.

Not like--but here she tripped and coloured, on the threshold of her
thought. She had recently been the recipient of a very distressing
confidence; one, too, which she was not at liberty to share, even with
Richard. For, after the relief of a thorough-paced confession, Mrs.
Glendinning had implored her not to breathe a word to him--"I could
never look him in the face again, love!" Besides, the affair was of
such a painful nature that Polly felt little desire to draw Richard
into it; it was bad enough that she herself should know. The thing was
this: once when Polly had stayed overnight at Dandaloo Agnes
Glendinning in a sudden fit of misery had owned to her that she cared
for another person more than for her own husband, and that her feelings
were returned.

Shocked beyond measure, Polly tried to close her friend's lips. "I
don't think you should mention any names, Agnes," she cried.
"Afterwards, my dear, you might regret it."

But Mrs. Glendinning was hungry for the luxury of speech--not even to
Louisa Urquhart had she broken silence, she wept; and that, for the
sake of Louisa's