honeymoon; and, once their marriage was confessed, it would be the
beginning of ceaseless annoyance, disagreeable advice from relations,
shindies without end."

Harry was still in the seventh heaven--more ardent in love with his wife
than ever; and this sweet little quiet home, with "the mystery and
romance of it," he was unwilling to tear himself from. To Bluebell it
bore a different aspect. Marriage had deprived her of all her friends,
and raised a barrier between the present and the past. There had been no
time to grow to Harry, and he demanded so much. She was never alone,
never free from this all-pervading passionate love that she felt quite
powerless to equal. Sometimes Bluebell marvelled he did not perceive
this, though nothing she dreaded more, for, since the discovery of how
much he had risked for her, she was always blaming herself for not
feeling the exclusive devotion that could alone recompense him.

To be suddenly deprived of all occupation, and sent to some unfamiliar
place to be absolutely happy for a month, is an ordeal custom imposes
on most newly-wedded pairs; but a runaway match has severer conditions
still, since no letters of affectionate interest can be expected from
friends, and the bride has not even a trousseau to fall back upon.

One morning after they had been married three weeks, a batch of letters
was forwarded to Dutton by his agent, to whom he had only lately given
his address. One was from Lord Bromley, and had lain there some time. On
coming in from a walk that same afternoon, they found cards on the table.

"Just impertinent curiosity," growled Harry.

"Why?" cried Bluebell. "For my part, I think it is rather fun to have a
visitor. Dear me, though, _I_ have no cards;"--and she coloured deeply as
she remembered that her marriage was still unacknowledged, even on
pasteboard.

"Bluebell," cried Harry, impulsively, "I'll go to-morrow and make it all
right with my uncle at once."

"Oh, I _wish_ you would," with deep energy.

"And you don't mind being left?" he asked tenderly.

"Oh, anything to have the secret at an end!"

"Bluebell, for goodness' sake don't expect too much! What if my uncle
disinherited me? It is not at all unlikely."

"Ah, Harry," said Bluebell, softly, "that comes of marrying me. Why did
you not think of it first? I should be no worse off," continued she,
musingly; "I could give music lessons. It's hard on you, of course; but,
Harry, do, pray, whatever are the