o comment
on the event of the evening.

Mr. Potts is serenity itself, and is apparently ignorant of having
given offense to any one. His face has regained its pristine fairness,
and is scrupulously clean; so is his conscience. He looks incapable of
harm.

Bed-hour arrives, and Tedcastle retires to his pipe without betraying
his inmost feelings. Sir Penthony is determined to follow his lead;
Cecil is equally determined he shall not. To have it out with him
without further loss of time is her fixed intention, and with that
design she says, a little imperiously:

"Sir Penthony, get me my candle."

She has lingered, before saying this, until almost all the others have
disappeared. The last of the men is vanishing round the corner that
leads to the smoking-room; the last of the women has gone beyond sight
of the staircase in search of her bedroom fire. Cecil and her husband
stand alone in the vast hall.

"I fear you are annoyed about something," she says, in a maddening tone
of commiseration, regarding him keenly, while he gravely lights her
candle.

"Why should you suppose so?"

"Because of your gravity and unusual silence."

"I was never a great talker, and I do not think I am in the habit of
laughing more than other people."

"But you have not laughed at all,--all this evening, at least,"--with a
smile,--"not since you discovered us in durance vile."

"Did you find the situation so unpleasant? I fancied it rather amused
you,--so much so that you even appeared to forget the dignity that, as
a married woman, ought to belong to you."

"Well, but!"--provokingly--"you forget how very _little_ married I
am."

"At all events you are my wife,"--rather angrily; "I must beg you to
remember that. And for the future I shall ask you to refrain from such
amusements as call for concealment and necessitate the support of a
young man's arm."

"I really do not see by what right you interfere with either me or my
amusements," says Cecil, hotly, after a decided pause. Never has he
addressed her with so much sternness. She raises her eyes to his and
colors richly all through her creamy skin. "Recollect our bargain."

"I do. I recollect also that you have my name."

"And you have my money. That makes us quits."

"I do not see how you intend carrying out that argument. The money was
quite as much mine as yours."

"But you could not have had it without me."

"Nor you without me."

"Which is to be regretted. At least I