"You are very gracious," Dominey murmured.

"I came, perhaps, expecting to see a little more of you," she went
on deliberately, "but there is a very great compensation for my
disappointment. I think your wife, Everard, is worth taking trouble
about. She is perfectly sweet, and her manners are most attractive."

"I am very glad you think that," he said warmly.

She looked away from him.

"Everard," she sighed, "I believe you are in love with your wife."

There was a strange, almost a terrible mixture of expressions in his
face as he answered,--a certain fear, a certain fondness, a certain
almost desperate resignation. Even his voice, as a rule so slow and
measured, shook with an emotion which amazed his companion.

"I believe I am," he muttered. "I am afraid of my feelings for her. It
may bring even another tragedy down upon us."

"Don't talk rubbish!" Caroline exclaimed. "What tragedy could come
between you now? You've recovered your balance. You are a strong,
steadfast person, just fitted to be the protector of anything so sweet
and charming as Rosamund. Tragedy, indeed! Why don't you take her
down to the South of France, Everard, and have your honeymoon all over
again?"

"I can't do that just yet."