If he were to marry, he knew of no one more likely to suit him in all ways than Maude. Pretty to look at, clever to talk to, sufficiently accustomed to him and his ways of life, she would make him a far better wife than nine-tenths of the young ladies he was accustomed to meet in such little society as he could spare the time to cultivate. Why should he marry at all? He answered the question almost as soon as he asked it. His life wanted brightening, wanted refining, was at present too narrow and confined; all his hopes, thoughts, and aspirations were centred on himself. He was all wrong. There should be some one who--the chambers were confoundedly dreary too, when he came home to them from the office or the House; he should travel somewhere abroad when the House rose, he thought, and it would be dull work moving about by himself, and--
What pretty earnest eyes Maude had, and shining hair, and delicate "bred"-looking hands! She certainly was wonderfully nice, and if, as Benthall avowed, she really eared for him, he---- Who was this coming to break in on his pleasant day-dream? Oh, Gertrude.
"I was wondering where you were, Mr. Joyce! You said you wanted your holiday, and you seem to be passing it in slumber!"
"Nothing so commonplace, Mrs. Benthall."
"One moment, why do you call me Mrs. Benthall? What has made you so formal and ridiculous all of a sudden? You used to call me Gertrude, in London?"
"Yes, but then you were an unmarried girl; now you are a wedded woman, and there's a certain amount of respect due to matronhood."
"What nonsense! Do call me Gertrude again, please; Mrs. Benthall sounds so horrid! I should like the boarders here in the house to call me Gertrude, only George says it wouldn't be proper! And so you weren't asleep?"
"Not the least bit! Although I'm ready to allow I was dreaming."
"Dreaming!--what about?"
"About the old days which I spent in this place--and their association!"