t made his blood boil to think of his stupid
insensibility to the possession he had in such a wife.

Gradually he was able to soothe her--or perhaps it was the relief of
utterance that made her presently seem more light-hearted. Noel
pronounced a great many platitudes in an insincere effort to persuade
her that things would get better, and somehow they seemed to give her
comfort for the moment. As if to put the subject by, she called the
big cat to her, snapping her fine slim fingers, and saying, "Come,
Grisette"; and the creature jumped into her lap with the obedience of a
well-trained dog. Then she enticed the kittens to follow, one by one,
until they were all in her lap playing with her ribbons, catching at her
little embroidered handkerchief with their soft paws, and rolling over
in high glee. She talked to them as if they had been children, petted
and chided them in the prettiest way, and then put them down, one by
one, with a kiss on each little soft head that made Noel half angry and
wholly pitying. It was so touching to see her tenderness, her longing
to expend the great store of love within her--and to see her, too, so
utterly without an object for it.

The cat and kittens having returned to their place on the rug, Noel
proffered a request he had been wanting to put all the evening and
asked her to sing. He had found out on the steamer that she possessed
an extraordinarily beautiful voice. Her face, which had grown brighter,
clouded suddenly.

"I cannot," she answered. "I don't sing at all. My husband got me a
piano, thinking it would please me, but I have not opened it. I was
afraid he would be disappointed, but he has not noticed it. I used to
be sorry he was not fond of music, but this makes me glad."

"Do you really mean that you are going to give up singing? If you do you
must let me assure you that it would be very wrong, a wrong to others,
to let such a voice as yours be silent."

"Oh, do not tell me that," she said, "I want not to do anything wrong,
but indeed I cannot sing. I have tried it sometimes when I sit alone,
and it is always the same thing--I choke so I cannot sing. I will get
over it, but don't ask me to sing yet."

He could not say another word, especially as the tears were evidently
near her eyes, and seeing that the hour was late and her husband, for
whose return he had expected to wait, was delayed, he got up to take his
leave.

"Vill you not vait for Robert?" she said, speaking f