"Oh, as to that, an idle man will fall in love with any pretty woman who will snub him."
"But Arthur isn't idle, and she doesn't snub him."
"Very well; he married her because he fell in love for no reason but the weakness of our sex."
"Love seems generally to be regarded by the masculine mind in the light of a weakness."
"Isn't it?" her husband returned. "Love is the condition of desiring the impossible, and if that is not a weakness, what becomes of logic?"
"I am tired of logic," she said, rising abruptly. "I am tired of every thing. Let us have supper. I want a glass of wine. I am sure I tried to be kind to Mrs. Fenton. I would have helped her if I could; but how could I assist her unless she chose to let me, and that, too, knowing who I am."
"I never knew you to be other than kind," was the grave reply, which brought to Helen's cheek a faint flush of pleasure.
The servant came in with supper, and the slender glasses were filled with Rhine wine.
"I could not help thinking," Dr. Ashton said, lifting his glass,—"I drink to your very good health, my dear—I could not help thinking of my wedding gift to Arthur, that he asked me for it, I mean."
"I thought of it, too, when his wife told me the story. It is well she does not know that of you."