passed through the great gates, and turned into the road, still thinking
of Zoe, and mentally reviewing their behavior toward each other since
the unfortunate day in which Miss Deane had crossed their threshold.

The conclusion he presently arrived at was, that he had not been
altogether blameless; that, if his reproofs had been given in more
loving fashion, they would have been received in a better spirit; that
he had not been faithful to his promise always to try "love and coaxing"
with the impulsive, sensitive child-wife, who, he doubted not, loved him
with her whole heart; and, once convinced of that, he determined to say
so on his return, and make it up with her.

True, it seemed to him that she ought to make the first advances toward
an adjustment of their slight differences (quarrels they could scarcely
be called; a slight coldness, a cessation of accustomed manifestations
of conjugal affection, a few sharp or impatient words on each side), but
he would be too generous to wait for that; he loved her dearly enough to
sacrifice his pride to some extent; he could better afford that than the
sight of her unhappiness.

In the mean time Zoe was bitterly repenting of the rebuff she had given
him. He had hardly closed the door when she started up, and ran to it to
call him back, apologize for her curt refusal to go with him, and ask if
she might still accept his invitation. But it was too late: he was
already beyond hearing.

She could not refrain from another cry, and was very angry with herself
for her petulance. She regretted the loss of the drive, too, which would
have been a real treat after the week of confinement to the house.