"Upstairs, I believe. She and I have nearly quarrelled to-day."

"What about?"

"About her marriage. I declare, William, I have no patience with her."

Mr. Bellairs laughed. "An old complaint, my dear; but why?"

"She is so matter-of-fact. I asked her, at last, what she was going to
marry for, and she told me coolly, for convenience."

Mrs. Bellairs' indignation made her husband laugh still more. "They are
well matched," he said; "Morton is as cool as she is. He might be
Bluebeard proposing for his thirteenth wife."

"Well, _you_ may like it, but I don't. If they care so little about each
other now, what will they do when they have been married as long as we
have?"

"My dear Elise, you and I were born too soon. _We_ never thought of
marrying for convenience; but as our ideas on the subject don't seem to
have changed much in ten years, perhaps theirs may not do so either. By
the way, where's Percy?"

"That's another thing. I don't want to be inhospitable to your cousin,
but I do wish with all my heart that he was back in England."

Mr. Bellairs threw his magazine on the table. "Why, what on earth is the
matter with him?"