"Then it is sleeplessness. I lay awake last night."
"Anything the matter? Can I help you?"
She shook her head, smiling.
"I am adjusting a few difficulties," she answered; "chiefly matrimonial, but they belong to my cook."
He looked at her attentively.
"Don't worry," he said. "It is not becoming. The flush is all right, but in time it will give place to discontent. You will sow perplexities to reap—"
"Furrows," finished Mariana. Then she nodded gayly. "What a pessimist you are!" she said. "No, I am going to use the best cosmetic—happiness."
And she lifted her skirts and descended the stairs.
That afternoon she remained in-doors, wandering aimlessly from room to room, opening a book to turn a page or two and to throw it aside for another.
In the evening she went out to dinner, and Ryder, who was among the guests, remarked that he had never seen her in better form. "If there was such a thing as eternally effervescent champagne, I'd compare you to it," he said. "Are you never out of spirits?"