her passion for flowers. She felt a physical pang to see
cut flowers with their stalks out of water. Once I saw her buy up the
whole stock-in-trade of a flower-girl, because the poor things wanted
water. Neither you nor your children have any love of flowers. You, as a
doctor, are inclined to think it unhealthy to have plants in your rooms;
consequently there were none, and Lillie never grumbled about it.

Lillie did not care for modern music. Cesar Franck bored her, and Wagner
gave her a headache. Her favourite instrument was an old harpsichord, on
which she played Mozart, while her daughters thundered out Liszt and
Rubinstein upon a concert grand, and you, dear Professor, when in a good
humour, strode about the house whistling horribly out of tune.

Finally, Lillie liked quiet, musical speech, and she was surrounded by
people who talked at the top of their voices.

"Absurd trifles," I can hear you saying. Perhaps. But they explain the
fact that although she was happy in a way, she still had many
aspirations which were not only unsatisfied, but which, without meaning
it unkindly, you daily managed to crush.

Lillie never blamed others. When she found that you did not understand
the things she cared for, she immediately tried to think she was in the
wrong, and her well-balanced nature helped her to conquer her own
predilections.

She was happy because she willed to be happy. Once and for all she had
made up her mind that she was the luckiest woman in existence; happy in
every respect; and she was deeply grateful to you.

But in the depths of her heart--so deeply buried that perhaps it never
rose to the surface even in the form of a dream--lay that secret
something which led to the present misfortune.

I know nothing of her relations with Schlegel, but I think I may venture
to say that they were chiefly limited to intercourse of the soul; and
for that reason they were so fatal.

Have you ever observed the sound of Schlegel's voice? He spoke slowly
and so softly; I can quite believe it attracted your wife in the
beginning; and that afterwards, gradually, and almost imperceptibly, she
gravitated towards him. He possessed so many qualities that she admired
and missed.

The man is now at death's door, and can never explain to us what passed
between them--even admitting that there was anything blameworthy. As far
as I know, Schlegel was quite infatuated with a totally different woman.
Had he really been in love wit