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flection. As she reflected a good deal she had allowed him a
certain amount of compassion; but she always had a dread
of wasting that essence-a precious article, worth more to the
giver than to any one else. Now, however, it took no great
sensibility to feel that poor Ralph’s tenure of life was less
elastic than it should be. He was a bright, free, generous
spirit, he had all the illumination of wisdom and none of its
pedantry, and yet he was distressfully dying.
Isabel noted afresh that life was certainly hard for some
people, and she felt a delicate glow of shame as she thought
how easy it now promised to become for herself. She was
prepared to learn that Ralph was not pleased with her en-
gagement; but she was not prepared, in spite of her affection
for him, to let this fact spoil the situation. She was not even
prepared, or so she thought, to resent his want of sympathy;
for it would be his privilege-it would be indeed his natural
line-to find fault with any step she might take toward mar-
riage. One’s cousin always pretended to hate one’s husband;
that was traditional, classical; it was a part of one’s cousin’s
always pretending to adore one. Ralph was nothing if not
critical; and though she would certainly, other things being
equal, have been as glad to marry to please him as to please
any one, it would be absurd to regard as important that her
choice should square with his views. What were his views
after all? He had pretended to believe she had better have
married Lord Warburton; but this was only because she had
refused that excellent man. If she had accepted him Ralph
would certainly have taken another tone; he always took the
opposite. You could criticize any marriage; it was the es-

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