l
her that he was willing to marry her in spite of his engagement with
Lilian Dale. But he had never walked with her for hours together as
he had walked with Lily. He had never talked to her about government,
and politics, and books, nor had she talked to him of poetry, of
religion, and of the little duties and comforts of life. He had known
the Lady Alexandrina for the last six or seven years; but he had
never known her,--perhaps never would know her,--as he had learned to
know Lily Dale within the space of two months.

And now that she was his wife, what was he to say to her? They
two had commenced a partnership which was to make of them for the
remaining term of their lives one body and one flesh. They were to
be all-in-all to each other. But how was he to begin this all-in-all
partnership? Had the priest, with his blessing, done it so
sufficiently that no other doing on Crosbie's own part was necessary?
There she was, opposite to him, his very actual wife,--bone of his
bone; and what was he to say to her? As he settled himself on his
seat, taking over his own knees a part of a fine fur rug trimmed with
scarlet, with which he had covered her other mufflings, he bethought
himself how much easier it would have been to talk to Lily. And Lily
would have been ready with all her ears, and all her mind, and all
her wit, to enter quickly upon whatever thoughts had occurred to him.
In that respect Lily would have been a wife indeed,--a wife that
would have transferred herself with quick mental activity into her
husband's mental sphere. Had he begun about his office Lily would
have been ready for him, but Alexandrina had never yet asked him a
single question about his official life. Had he been prepared with a
plan for to-morrow's happiness Lily would have taken it up eagerly,
but Alexandrina never cared for such trifles.

"Are you quite comfortable?" he said, at last.

"Oh, yes, quite, thank you. By-the-by, what did you do with my
dressing-case?"

And that question she did ask with some energy.

"It is under you. You can have it as foot-stool if you like it."

"Oh, no; I should scratch it. I was afraid that if Hannah had it,
it might be lost." Then again there was silence, and Crosbie again
considered as to what he would next say to his wife.

We all know the advice given us of old as to what we should do
under such circumstances; and who can be so thoroughly justified in
following that advice as a newly-married husb