and laughing gayly. Why was he looking at his wife with plain
signs of embarrassment in his face? Sydney piteously persisted in
repeating her innocent question: "I hope I haven't done anything
to offend you?"

He seemed to be still reluctant to notice her--on the one
occasion of all others when she was looking her best! But he
answered at last.

"My dear child, it is impossible that you should offend me; you
have misunderstood and mistaken me. Don't suppose--pray don't
suppose that I am changed or can ever be changed toward you."

He emphasized the kind intention which those words revealed by
giving her his hand.

But the next moment he drew back. There was no disguising it, he
drew back as if he wished to get away from her. She noticed that
his lips were firmly closed and his eyebrows knitted in a frown;
he looked like a man who was forcing himself to submit to some
hard necessity that he hated or feared.

Sydney left the room in despair.

He had denied in the plainest and kindest terms that he was
changed toward her. Was that not enough? It was nothing like
enough. The facts were there to speak for themselves: he was an
altered man; anxiety, sorrow, remorse--one or the other seemed to
have got possession of him. Judging by Mrs. Linley's gayety of
manner, his wife could not possibly have been taken into his