Elizabeth and I will look after him, and see that he has your best cigars, and the '64 claret, and all the rest of the things that make a man contented. So don't bother about him, you dear old man!"
Mrs. Shaw laughed merrily as she said this, and still more so when Polly from her perch called out, "Don't put in too much sugar!" and put her head knowingly on one side.
"Oh, you wicked Polly! to cry out that I put in too much sugar!"—and Mrs. Shaw scratched the bird's head with her small white fingers. "And how rude of you to tell the colonel to 'keep stirring'! I wish you had been better brought up, Polly. But, for all that, you are a great dear—you are! you are!"
And Mrs. Shaw stooped and kissed the bird's grey poll before she whisked out of the room.
The remainder of that day Elizabeth passed in the unsatisfied condition of mind I have already indicated. If she could only feel sure that he really loved her—that this was more than a passing "fancy" on the part of this magnificent spoiled child—what a devoted wife she could be! He had faults, of course—perhaps very grave faults; but so long as they did not touch her, what did she care? Such is the supreme egoism of love, or what passes for love, which is so often justly punished. That one half of her—the less worthy half—was at times subjugated by this man, there is no doubt. But her strong passionate nature was not without restraint. Education of the higher sort had done much to elevate and to balance her character during the past two years. She was still impulsive; she would always be so; acting
