They are my pets; and I don't consider they have spent at all a suitable
honeymoon Sunday afternoon--Tristram, with a headache in the
smoking-room, and the bride, taking a walk and being made love to by
Arthur Elterton, and Young Billy, alternately. The kid is as wild about
her as Tristram himself, I believe!"

"Then you still think Tristram is in love with her, do you, Crow?" asked
Anne, once more interested in her original thrill. "He did not show the
smallest signs of it last night then, if so; and how he did not seize
her in his arms and devour her there and then, with all that lovely hair
down and her exquisite shape showing the outline so in that dress--I
can't think! He must be as cold as a stone, and I never thought him so
before, did you?"

"No, and he isn't either, I tell you what, my dear girl, there is
something pretty grim keeping those two apart, I am sure. She is the
kind of woman who arouses the fiercest passions; and Tristram is in the
state that, if something were really to set alight his jealousy, he
might kill her some day."

"Crow--how terrible!" gasped Anne, and then seeing that her friend's
face was serious, and not chaffing, she, too, looked grave. "Then what
on earth is to be done?" she asked.

"I don't know, I have been thinking it over ever since I came in. I
found him in the smoking-room, staring in front of him, not even
pretending to read, and looking pretty white about the gills; and when
he saw it was only me, and I asked him if his head were worse, and
whether he had not better have a brandy and soda, he simply said: 'No,
thanks, the whole thing is a d---- rotten show.' I've known him since he