she shuddered and grew bitter, and a strange rebellion broke loose in
her. Why had Philip failed to keep his promise not to see her again
after the marriage, till he should return from Portsmouth? It was
selfish, painfully, terribly selfish of him. Why, even though she had
been foolish in her request--why had he not done as she wished? Was that
love--was it love to break the first promise he had ever made to his
wife?

Yet she excused him to herself. Men were different from women, and men
did not understand what troubled a woman's heart and spirit; they were
not shaken by the same gusts of emotion; they--they were not so fine;
they did not think so deeply on what a woman, when she loves, thinks
always, and acts upon according to her thought. If Philip were only here
to resolve these fears, these perplexities, to quiet the storm in her!
And yet, could he--could he? For now she felt that this storm was
rooting up something very deep and radical in her. It frightened her,
but for the moment she fought it passionately.

She went into her garden; and here among her animals and her flowers it
seemed easier to be gay of heart; and she laughed a little, and was most
tender and pretty with her grandfather when he came home from spending
the afternoon with the Chevalier.

In this manner the first day of her marriage passed--in happy
reminiscence and in vague foreboding; in affection yet in reproach
as the secret wife; and still as the loving, distracted girl, frightened
at her own bitterness, but knowing it to be justified.

The late evening was spent in gaiety with her grandfather and the
Chevalier; but at night when she went to bed she could not sleep. She