“Zoe, how pretty you are! that dress is very becoming!” exclaimed Rosie, suddenly changing the subject.

“Am I?  But I can’t compare with Miss Deane in either beauty or conversational powers,” returned Zoe, the concluding words spoken with some bitterness.

“Can’t you? just ask Ned about it,” laughed Rosie.  “I verily believe he thinks you the sweetest thing he ever set eyes on.  There, I hear him coming, and must run away, for I know he always wants you all to himself here; and besides, I have to dress.”

She ran gayly away, passing her brother on the threshold.

Zoe was busying herself at a bureau drawer, apparently searching for something, and did not look toward him or speak.  In another moment she had found what she wanted, closed the drawer, and passed into her boudoir.

Edward had been standing silently watching her, love and anger struggling for the mastery in his breast.  If she had only turned to him with a word, or even a look of regret for the past, and desire for reconciliation, he would have taken her to his heart again as fully and tenderly as ever.  He was longing to do so, but too proud to make the first advances when he felt himself the aggrieved one.

“All would be right between them but for Zoe’s silly jealousy and pride.  Why could she not trust him and submit willingly to his guidance and control while she was still so young and inexperienced—­such a mere child as to be quite incapable of judging for herself in any matter of importance?  In fact, he felt it his duty to guide and control her till she should grow older and wiser.”

Such were his thoughts as he went through the duties of the toilet, while Zoe sat at the window of her boudoir gazing out over the smoothly shaven lawn with its stately trees, lovely in their fresh spring attire, to the green fields and woods beyond, yet scarcely taking in the beauty of the landscape, so full of tears were her eyes, so full her heart of anger, grief, and pain.

She had not looked at her husband as he stood silently near her a moment ago, but felt that he was gazing with anger and sternness upon her.

“If he had only said one kind word to me,” she whispered to herself, “I would have told him I was sorry for my silly speech this afternoon, and oh, so happy to be his own little wife, if—­if only he hasn’t quit loving me.”

She hastily wiped her eyes and endeavored to assume an air of cheerfulness and indifference, as she heard his step approaching.

“Are you ready to go down now, Zoe?” he asked in a freezing tone.

“Yes,” she answered, turning to follow him as he led the way to the door.

There seemed to be a tacit understanding between them that their disagreements and coldness toward each other were to be concealed from all the rest of the world; in the old happy days they had always gone down together to the drawing-room or the tea-table, therefore would do so still.