"I wish I had not promised to go to Greystock's office to-day," he said, regretfully. "I don't like leaving you, Louie, although I think I have a chance of getting employment."
"Have you, really?" I asked. "Don't think of staying indoors for me, dear; I shall be quite bright when you return. It will be delightful to feel you are a City man, with important business to attend to every day. You are looking much better."
"I am gaining my strength, but you are losing yours," he said, kissing me, and keeping back a sigh.
We had finished breakfast, but, instead of going out at once, he took up the guitar and ran his fingers across the strings. Again came the soft sweet tune that had no name, the tune which had so often haunted me in my dreams.
"What does it mean?" I cried, involuntarily.
"I don't know," he said, "I can't help asking myself the same question every time I play it. If I could only remember how I learnt it first, I could solve the mystery."
"I think there is something rather fascinating about the mystery," I remarked. "That air always cheers, while it perplexes me. It comes like a suggestion of sunshine. It seems full of promises—promises of what? I wish I knew."
Ronald smiled at me as he put down the guitar.
"Promises of better fortune,—let us believe that," he said. "But good fortune doesn't always come to those who sit and wait. I am going to seek it in Greystock's office."
Again I felt a sudden heart-sinking. And yet how absurd and unreasonable this dislike to William Greystock would appear to others. As far as I knew, he had never done me the slightest harm, nor had he ever crossed my path since my marriage. Even supposing he had once been somewhat in love with me, was that any reason why I should hate the sound of his name? Any way, he had never pestered me with unwelcome attentions, but had withdrawn himself quietly when he found that my heart was not for him. And being a strong-minded, strong-willed man, he had doubtless conquered his fancy long ago.