be, not exactly cowed, by the prospect of Lady Milborough's dinner,
but perhaps a little reduced from her usual self-assertion. He would
say a word to her when he was dressing, assuring her that he had
not intended to animadvert in the slightest degree upon her own
conduct.

Luncheon was served, and the two ladies went down into the dining-room.
Mr Trevelyan did not appear. There was nothing in itself singular
in that, as he was accustomed to declare that luncheon was a meal
too much in the day, and that a man should eat nothing beyond a
biscuit between breakfast and dinner. But he would sometimes come
in and eat his biscuit standing on the hearth-rug, and drink what
he would call half a quarter of a glass of sherry. It would probably
have been well that he should have done so now; but he remained
in his library behind the dining-room, and when his wife and his
sister-in-law had gone upstairs, he became anxious to learn whether,
Colonel Osborne would come on that day, and, if so, whether he would
be admitted. He had been told that Nora Rowley was to be called
for by another lady, a Mrs Fairfax, to go out and look at pictures.
His wife had declined to join Mrs Fairfax's party, having declared
that, as she was going to dine out, she would not leave her baby
all the afternoon. Louis Trevelyan, though he strove to apply his
mind to an article which he was writing for a scientific quarterly
review, could not keep himself from anxiety as to this expected visit
from Colonel Osborne. He was not in the least jealous. He swore to
himself fifty times over that any such feeling on his part would
be a monstrous injury to his wife. Nevertheless he knew that he
would be gratified if on that special day Colonel Osborne should
be informed that his wife was not at home. Whether the man were
admitted or not, he would beg his wife's pardon; but he could, he