"Hartledon."
"Not to Hartledon," said he, quickly, for his dislike to the place had grown with time, and the word grated on his ear.
"Then I remain where I am."
"Maude," he resumed in quiet tones, "I will not urge you to try sea-air for my sake, because you do what you can to show me I am of little moment to you; but I will say try it for the sake of the children. Surely, they are dear to you!"
A subdued sound of pain broke from her lips, as if she could not bear to hear them named.
"It's of no use prolonging this discussion," she said. "An invalid's fancies may generally be trusted, and mine point to Hartledon—if I am to be disturbed at all. I should not so much mind going there."
A pause ensued. Lord Hartledon had taken her hand, and was mechanically turning round her wedding-ring, his thoughts far away; it hung sufficiently loosely now on the wasted finger. She lay back in her chair, looking on with apathy, too indifferent to withdraw her hand.
"Why did you put it on?" she asked, abruptly.
"Why indeed?" returned his lordship, deep in his abstraction. "What did you say, Maude?" he added, awaking in a flurry. "Put what on?"
"My wedding-ring."