“Little wife, I believe you care for him yet,” lifting her face and kissing her lips.

“Yes, of course I do, but not as I care for you.  It is only the musical corner of my heart that he has touched, for apart from music I never give him a thought.  My love for you is different; it seems to fill my life.”

“You shall not find me exacting, dearest.  Lancy is quite welcome to that musical corner, while I have such a heart full of love for my own.  I would not have spoken about that music had I known what it was to you.  I will remember after this,” he added, smiling, “that it is ’sacred to the memory of—­Lancy Gurney,’ and I am quite willing to have it so,” and he drew her close to his side.

“It is kind of you, dear, to respect this, my one bit of private property.  I could never tell you what that music has been to me, for though it brings tears to my eyes it has the power to comfort.  It seems to soothe and sympathize with me in my little troubles, and during that unhappy time after papa died I do not know what I should have done without the piano to talk to; it seemed the only bit of comfort left to me.”

Guy raised the drooping head, and gazing tenderly into her tear-filled eyes said, gently: 

“Dearest love!  I do not believe that I half know you yet!  There seem depths in your nature that I have never reached, and thoughts in your heart that I have never shared; they are so far above me.  Trust me as far as you will, darling, and do not think that I wish you to break a promise that seems more sacred than sentimental,” and he drew her to his heart again.

A few days later Guy brought home a thick letter to Dexie bearing the postmark of Halifax, and as Dexie read it a troubled look spread over her face, but she said nothing until the lamp had been lit and the curtains drawn; then she drew close to her husband’s side, saying: 

“Elsie has sent me very unpleasant news, dear.”

“Then I wish she had not written; I do not like to see my little wife look sad over anything.  May I know what it is, dear? but do not tell me if you had rather not, Dexie,” and he drew her down to his knee.

“I do not think Elsie knew that her news would trouble me, for she seldom sees beneath the surface of things.  My marriage has given her mother a great deal of trouble, and as she is the dearest little woman that I ever knew, I feel very sorry.”

“For your marriage or the ’little woman’?”

“What a tease you are!” joining in his laugh.  “But there is a ludicrous side to Elsie’s story, too, though it is the unpleasant part of it that strikes me first.  Do you remember the threat that Hugh McNeil made when we told him we were going to be married?  Well, he has carried it out, and has married Nina Gordon, my double, that I told you about.  Oh, it is a shame! a cruel shame!  What a life she will lead with that passionate man, with no love between them to soften his feelings!