taken her from the oldest stock of reigning families then extant.
Trevelyan knew all this himself, had said so to himself a score
of times, though not probably in spoken words or formed sentences.
But, that all was equal between himself and the wife of his bosom,
had been a thing ascertained by him as a certainty. There was no
debt of gratitude from her to him which he did not acknowledge to
exist also as from him to her. But yet, in his anger, he could not
keep himself from thinking of the gifts he had showered upon her.
And he had been, was, would ever be, if she would only allow it,
so true to her! He had selected no other friend to take her place
in his councils! There was no 'dear Mary' or 'dear Augusta' with
whom he had secrets to be kept from his wife. When there arose
with him any question of interest such as was this of the return
of Sir Marmaduke to her, he would show it in all its bearings to
his wife. He had his secrets too, but his secrets had all been made
secrets for her also. There was not a woman in the world in whose
company he took special delight in her absence.

And if there had been, how much less would have been her ground of
complaint? Let a man have any such friendships, what friendships he
may, he does not disgrace his wife. He felt himself to be so true
of heart that he desired no such friendships; but for a man indulging
in such friendships there might be excuse. Even though a man be
false, a woman is not shamed and brought unto the dust before all
the world. But the slightest rumour on a woman's name is a load
of infamy on her husband's shoulders. It was not enough for Caesar
that his wife should be true; it was necessary to Caesar that
she should not even be suspected. Trevelyan told himself that he
suspected his wife of no sin. God forbid that it should ever come
to that, both for his sake and for hers; and, above all, for the