"A Bath bun," said Staines. "Why, they are colored with annotto, to
save an egg, and annotto is adulterated with chromates that are poison.
Adulteration upon adulteration. I'll make you a real Bath bun." Off
coat, and into the kitchen, and made her three, pure, but rather heavy.
He brought them her in due course. She declined them languidly. She was
off the notion, as they say in Scotland.

"If I can't have a thing when I want it, I don't care for it at all."
Such was the principle she laid down for his future guidance.

He sighed, and went back to his work; she cleared the plate.

One day, when she asked for the carriage, he told her the time was now
come for her to leave off carriage exercise. She must walk with him
every day, instead.

"But I don't like walking."

"I am sorry for that. But it is necessary to you, and by and by your
life may depend on it."

Quietly, but inexorably, he dragged her out walking every day.

In one of these walks she stopped at a shop window, and fell in love
with some baby's things. "Oh! I must have that," said she. "I must. I
shall die if I don't; you'll see now."

"You shall," said he, "when I can pay for it," and drew her away.

The tears of disappointment stood in her eyes, and his heart yearned