"Poor old M.!" she ejaculated, slowly.
Miss Timson still possessed the rare power of irritating Ian Stewart. He grew restive.
"I suppose I am a selfish brute. Men always are, aren't they? But, after all, my wife enjoys life in her present state at least as much as she does in the other."
"Not for the same reason, dear boy," returned Tims. "Old M., bless her, just lives for you. You don't imagine, do you, that Mildred cares about you like that?"
Ian flushed slightly, and his face hardened.
"One can't very well discuss one's wife's feeling for one's self," he said. "I believe I have every reason to be happy, however things are. And I very much doubt, Miss Timson, whether you can really effect the change in her in any way. At any rate, I'd rather you didn't try, please. I'll have her moved to her room, where she'll most likely sleep till to-morrow."
Tims bent over the sleeper. Then:
"I don't believe she will, somehow. You'd better leave her with me for the present, and I'll let you know if anything happens."
He obeyed, and in a minute she heard the front door close after him. Tims sat down in the chair which he had vacated.
"Poor old M.!" she ejaculated again, presently, and added: "What idiots men are! All except old Carus and Mr. Fitzallan. He's sensible enough."