"Is she becoming affectionate to you, as a gracious wife should be?" pursued Miss Margery, for he did not answer.
"I do not complain of my wife; please understand that, Miss Upton."
"Quite right of you not to. But I believe I understand rather more than appears on the surface; have understood for some time past. I gave her a lecture when I was last here. I did, indeed; though you may not suppose it."
He smiled. A poor smile at best. Margery Upton leaned forward and put her hand upon his hand, that lay on his knee.
"There is only one thing for it—patience. Bear quietly. Adela used to be a sweet girl! I think she has a good heart, and what evil spirit has taken possession of her I cannot conceive. I think things will work round in time, even as you could desire them."
"Ay!"
"And, for the present, I say, keep up a good heart—and bear. It is my best advice to you."
He took her hand within both his, and pressed it fervently, making no further reply. And just then the fly pulled up in the Strand.
"I have not asked about your mother," said Miss Upton, as he stood at the door to say farewell after getting out.
"She is pretty well, now."