"You are a happy man, George," says 'Duke, adopting a lighter tone. "Do not let my troubles depress you."
"Yes: Dora is a perfect wife," declares my brother-in-law, with honest content. "Good-bye Carrington; I will come over about that house either to-night or to-morrow morning early."
"Better come to-night and sleep," urges 'Duke and George, half consenting, goes noiselessly down the stairs.
When he has been gone at least five minutes, I steal from my concealment, and, entering the turret chamber, walk softly towards Marmaduke, who is standing with his back turned to me, gazing down through the window upon the lawn beneath. His attitude betokens deep thought. I go lightly to his side, and let my eyes follow the direction his have taken.
"Dreaming, 'Duke?" I ask, gayly.
He starts violently as I wake him from his reverie, and betrays astonishment not only at my presence at this moment, but also at my altered demeanor.
"Almost, I think," he says, after a moment's hesitation. It is so long since I have addressed him with anything approaching to bonhomie.
"How short the evenings are getting!" I go on, peering out into the dusk. "Marmaduke, do you remember the large party you had in these gardens before we were married?"
"Yes."
"And how we two stood just here and looked down upon them?"