"Richard, to you this seems a trifling thing; but, indeed it is not so,"
said Mrs. Marston, sadly.

"You are very right, Gertrude," he said, quickly, and almost with a
start; "it is very far from a trifling thing; it is very important."

"You don't blame me, Richard?" said she.

"I blame nobody," said he.

"Indeed, I never meant to offend you, Richard," she urged.

"Of course not; no, no; I never said so," he interrupted, sarcastically;
"what could you gain by that?"

"Oh! Richard, better feelings have governed me," she said, in a
melancholy and reproachful tone.

"Well, well, I suppose so," he said; and after an interval, he added
abstractedly, "This cannot, however, go on; no, no--it cannot. Sooner or
later it must have come; better at once--better now."

"What do you mean, Richard?" she said, greatly alarmed, she knew not why.
"What are you resolving upon? Dear Richard, in mercy tell me. I implore
of you, tell me."

"Why, Gertrude, you seem to me to fancy that, because I don't talk about
what is passing, that I don't see it either. Now this is quite a
mistake," said Marston, calmly and resolutely--"I have long observed your