were alone. The presence of the Dowager and Jock
had freed him from any necessity of explanation, had kept him in his
usual easy way; but now that Lucy alone sat opposite to him, he was more
silent than his wont, and with no longer any of the little flow of
simple observations which had once been so delightful to her. Sir Tom
was more uneasy than if she had been a stern and jealous Eleanor, a
clear-sighted critic seeing through and through him. The contest was so
unequal, and the weaker creature so destitute of any intention or
thought of resistance, that he felt himself a coward and traitor for
thus deserting her and overclouding her home and her life. Then he took
to asking himself, Did he overcloud her? Was she sensible of any
difference? Did she know enough to know that this was not how she ought
to be treated, or was she not quite contented with her secondary place?
Such a simple creature, would she not cry--would she not show her anger
if she was conscious of anything to be grieved or angry about? He took
refuge in those newspapers which, he gave out, it was so necessary he
should study, to understand the mind of the country before the opening
of Parliament. And thus they would sit, Lucy dutifully filling out the
tea, taking care that he had the dish he liked for breakfast, swallowing
her own with difficulty yet lingering over it, always thinking that
perhaps Tom might have something to say. While he, on the other hand,
kept behind his newspaper, feeling himself guilty, conscious that
another sort of woman would make one of those "scenes" which men dread,
yet despising Lucy a little in spite of himself for the very quality he
most admired in her, and wondering if she were really capable of feeling
at all. Sometimes little Tom would be brought downstairs to roll about
the carpet and try his unsteady little limbs in a series of clutches at
the chairs and table; and on these occasions the meal was got through
more easily. But little Tom was not always well enough to come
downstairs, and sometimes Lucy thought that her husband might have
something to say to her which the baby's all-engrossing presence
hindered. Thus it came about that the hours in which the Contessa was
present and in the front of everything, were really less painful than
those in which the pair were alone with the shadow of the intruder, more
powerful even than her presence holding them apart.

One of these mornings, however, Lucy's anticipations and