rey said to her one day, 'have you forgotten what I once
told you--that you are not to be so kind to me? You are spoiling me
dreadfully. You give me my way in everything; and when I say anything
that I ought not to say, you do not contradict me. I am growing
demoralised, and it is all your and Michael's fault if I get more
selfish every day.'

'You selfish, my darling?'

'Yes, selfish and stupid, and as idle as possible; and yet you never
scold me or ask me to do anything for you.'

'You are always doing something, Audrey; you are busy from morning till
night. Michael says you work far too hard.'

'But I must work; it is my duty to work,' she returned, a little
restlessly; 'and, mother, you must help, and not spoil me. When I see
you and Gage looking at me with tears in your eyes, it troubles me to
see them. I want you to be happy. I want everything to go on as usual,
and I mean to be happy, too.'

And then she went away and gave Mollie her music-lesson, and when it was
over she went in search of Michael.

Michael knew he was necessary to her--that in certain restless moods he
was able to soothe her; so he stayed manfully at his post until after
Christmas.

But with the new year he resumed his Bohemian life, spending two or
three weeks at South Audley Street, and then running down to Woodcote
for a few days. He felt it was wiser to do so, and he could leave her
more comfortably now. She was better in every way: she drooped less
visibly, her smile became more frequent, and the constant society of
Mollie and intercourse with her fresh girlish mind were evidently
beneficial.

She would do now without him, he told himself as he went back to his
lodgings, and he need no longer put such a force on himself. 'Until I
can speak, until the time has come for me to open my heart to her, it is
better that we should be apart.'

That Audrey held a different opinion was evident, and she could not
always conceal her disappointment when Michael's brief visits became
briefer and more infrequent.

'It is all that troublesome money,' she said once, when one spring
morning he stood waiting for the dog-cart to take him to the station.
'Of course, Woodcote does not content you now. You want a house of your
own, and to be your own master. Well, it is perfectly natural,' she
added quickly.

'I have always been my own master,' he returned quietly; 'and as for the
house you are so fond of talking about, it seems still in the clouds