On the day after the departure of Phineas Finn for Loughton Lady Laura Kennedy still had a headache.  She had complained of a headache ever since she had been at Loughlinter, and Dr. Macnuthrie had been over more than once.  “I wonder what it is that ails you,” said her husband, standing over her in her own sitting-room up-stairs.  It was a pretty room, looking away to the mountains, with just a glimpse of the lake to be caught from the window, and it had been prepared for her with all the skill and taste of an accomplished upholsterer.  She had selected the room for herself soon after her engagement, and had thanked her future husband with her sweetest smile for giving her the choice.  She had thanked him and told him that she always meant to be happy,—­so happy in that room!  He was a man not much given to romance, but he thought of this promise as he stood over her and asked after her health.  As far as he could see she had never been even comfortable since she had been at Loughlinter.  A shadow of the truth came across his mind.  Perhaps his wife was bored.  If so, what was to be the future of his life and of hers?  He went up to London every year, and to Parliament, as a duty; and then, during some period of the recess, would have his house full of guests,—­as another duty.  But his happiness was to consist in such hours as these which seemed to inflict upon his wife the penalty of a continual headache.  A shadow of the truth came upon him.  What if his wife did not like living quietly at home as the mistress of her husband’s house?  What if a headache was always to be the result of a simple performance of domestic duties?

More than a shadow of truth had come upon Lady Laura herself.  The dark cloud created by the entire truth was upon her, making everything black and wretched around her.  She had asked herself a question or two, and had discovered that she had no love for her husband, that the kind of life which he intended to exact from her was insupportable to her, and that she had blundered and fallen in her entrance upon life.  She perceived that her father had already become weary of Mr. Kennedy, and that, lonely and sad as he would be at Saulsby by himself, it was his intention to repudiate the idea of making a home at Loughlinter.  Yes;—­she would be deserted by everyone, except of course by her husband; and then—­ Then she would throw herself on some early morning into the lake, for life would be insupportable.

“I wonder what it is that ails you,” said Mr. Kennedy.

“Nothing serious.  One can’t always help having a headache, you know.”

“I don’t think you take enough exercise, Laura.  I would propose that you should walk four miles every day after breakfast.  I will always be ready to accompany you.  I have spoken to Dr. Macnuthrie—­”

“I hate Dr. Macnuthrie.”

“Why should you hate Dr. Macnuthrie, Laura?”

“How can I tell why?  I do.  That is quite reason enough why you should not send for him to me.”