satisfactory result. I was accepted, and for the next month or two went about receiving the congratulations of my friends, and inanely believing myself to be the happiest of men. During our courtship Honoria was not in the least bit sentimental; she was far too sensible for that. She never wanted a kiss in a dark passage; she would have been justly enraged had I suggestively trodden on her toes under the table. She never wished to stop and look at the moon on her way home from any neighbour's house or place of amusement; not a bit of it! She was a thoroughly practical, capable, healthy female, utterly devoid of romance. I was glad of this, because I had been lately reading in the magazines and newspapers that romance of any kind was unwholesome, and I did not want an unwholesome wife. And she was tremendously healthy; there was no sickly mawkishness or die-away languor about her! She wrote a novel-yes, and published it too; but it was not rubbish, you understand. By rubbish, I mean it was not full of silly sentiments, like Byron's verses or Shakespeare's plays; it had no idyllicsublime stuff in it. It was a sporting novel, full of slapdash vigour and stable slang; a really jolly, go-ahead, over-hill-and-dale, cross-country sort of book, with just a thread of a plot in it, which didn't matter, and an abrupt wind-up that left you in the lurch, wondering what it was all about; in short, the kind of reading that

doesn't bother a fellow's brain. It was a great success, partly because she, Honoria Maggs, found out the names of all the critics and "beat them up," as she frankly said, in her own irresistibly dominant way, and partly because the Duke of Havilands (I mentioned him just now) swore it was "the most doosid clever thing he had ever clapped eyes on in print." Her name was in everybody's mouth for a short time, and in the full flush of her glory she went off to the moors partridge-shooting, and "bagged" such a quantity of game that the fact was chronicled in all the society journals; particularly that smart paper that always abuses our venerable Queen in its delightful columns. She rose higher than ever in popular estimation. Redfern implored her to let him "build" her gowns; all the rival tailors sent her their circulars and estimates free of charge; the various makers of soap entreated her to use their different specimens regularly every morning; the photographers offered her "sittings" gratis, and she was very nearly becoming a "professional beauty," as well as a crack shot and literary genius. Yes, I know "genius" is a big word; but if Honoria Maggs did not have genius, then, I ask, what did she have? What active demon, or legion of demons possessed her? But I anticipate. I have just remarked that she was at this time nearly becoming a "professional beauty," and in that character might possibly have gone on the stage, there to get rid

of some of that amazing energy of which she had such a superabundance, but that I stepped in and cut matters short by marrying her. Yes; I suppose I did marry her. I must have done so, though, as I before hinted, it seems to me that she was the imperative, and I the passive party in the arrangement. I know my responses in church at the marriage service were very inaudible, and that hers were so distinctly uttered that they echoed through the chancel and almost frightened me by their decisive resonance. But she always had a resonant voice; good lungs, you know-not a touch of consumption there!

It was a pretty wedding, people said. It may have been. I know nobody looked at or thought of me. I was the least part of the ceremony-the bride was everything; the bride always is everything. And yet the bridegroom is an absolute necessity; he is wanted, is he not? The affair would not go on well without him? Then why is he, as a rule, so obstinately ignored and despised by his friends and relatives at his own wedding? This is one of the perplexing problems of social life that I shall never, never understand!

We had a great number of presents. My wife, of course, had the most; and one among her numerous marriage gifts struck me as singularly inappropriate. It was a cigar and ash tray, in oak and silver, very prettily engraved with her monogram, and it came from the

friend she had been staying with in the Highlands, when she had brought down the stag with the sixbranched antlers; antlers which now, tipped with silver, were destined to adorn the entrance-hall of our new house. When we were driving away from the scene of our bridal festivities, and endeavouring to shield ourselves from the shower of rice that was being pelted through the carriage-windows by our over zealous wellwishers, I remarked playfully:

"That was a singular gift for you, my darling, from Mrs. Stirling of Glen Ruach-she must have meant it for me!"

"Which?" demanded Honoria abruptly. (She never wasted words.)

"The cigar and ash tray," I replied.

"Singular?" and the newly-made partner of my joys and sorrows turned upon me with a brilliant smile in her fine eyes. "Not singular at all. She knows I smoke." Smoke! A feeble gurgle or gasp of astonishment came from my lips and I fell back a little in the carriage.

"Smoke? You smoke, Honoria?

You-you

She laughed aloud. "Smoke? I should think so! Why, you silly old boy, didn't you know that? Haven't you smelt my tobacco before now? Real Turkish!here you are!"

And she produced from her pocket a mannish-look

ing leather case embossed with silver, full of the finest "golden-hair" brand so approved by connoisseurs, and having at one side the usual supply of rice-paper wherewith to make cigarettes. She rolled up one very deftly as she spoke, and held it out to me.

"Have it?" she asked carelessly; but I made a sign. of protest and she put it back in the case with another laugh.

"Very rude you are!" she declared. "Very! You refuse the first cigarette made for you by your wife!" This was a stab, and I felt it keenly.

"I will take it presently, Honoria," I stammered nervously; "but-but-my darling, my sweetest girl, I do not like you to smoke!"

"Don't you?" and she surveyed me with the utmost nonchalance. "Sorry for that! But it can't be helped You smoke-I've seen you at it."

now!

"Yes, yes, I do; but I am a man, and-and

""

“And I am a woman!" finished Honoria composedly. "And we twain have just been made one! So I have as much right to smoke as you, old boy, being part and parcel of you; and we'll enjoy our cigars together after dinner."

"Cigars!"

"Yes; or cigarettes-which you please. It doesn't matter in the least to me; I'm accustomed to both!"

I sat dumb and bewildered. I could not realize