At the end of a fortnight of wedded bliss all these little things had
begun to make themselves felt, and in truth they were but the
commencement of evils. For, one afternoon, Philip, for the first time
since his wedding, tore himself away from his wife's side, and paid a
visit to a club to which he had been recently elected. Here he found
no less than three letters from his father, the first requesting his
return, the second commanding it in exceptionally polite language, and
the third--which, written in mingled anxiety and anger, had just
arrived--coolly announcing his parent's intention, should he not hear
of him by return, of setting detective officers to work to discover
his whereabouts. From this letter it appeared, indeed, that his cousin
George had already been despatched to London to look for him, and on
reference to the hall porter he discovered that a gentleman answering
to his description had already inquired for him several times.

Cursing his own folly in not having kept up some communication with
his father, he made the best of his way back to his lodgings, to find
Hilda waiting for him somewhat disconsolately.

"I am glad you have come back, love," she said, drawing him towards
her till his dark curls mingled with her own fair locks, and kissing
him upon the forehead. "I have missed you dreadfully. I don't
understand how I can have lived all these years without you."

"I am afraid, dear, you will have to live without me for a while now;
listen," and he read her the letters he had just received.

She listened attentively till he had finished.