the country. A mansion at the Chase was to be built, and, till such time as that was completed, they would keep on the old house at Greshamsbury. Into this, small as it was, Mrs. Thorne—in spite of her great wealth—did not disdain to enter. But subsequent circumstances changed their plans. It was found that Mr. Sowerby could not or would not live at Chaldicotes; and, therefore, in the second year of their marriage, that place was prepared for them. They are now well known to the whole county as Dr. and Mrs. Thorne of Chaldicotes—of Chaldicotes, in distinction to the well-known Thornes of Ullathorne, in the eastern division. Here they live respected by their neighbors, and on terms of alliance both with the Duke of Omnium and with Lady Lufton.
"Of course those dear old avenues will be very sad to me," said Mrs. Harold Smith, when, at the end of a London season, she was invited down to Chaldicotes; and as she spoke she put her handkerchief up to her eyes.
"Well, dear, what can I do?" said Mrs. Thorne. "I can't cut them down; the doctor would not let me."
"Oh no," said Mrs. Harold Smith, sighing; and, in spite of her feelings, she did visit Chaldicotes.
But it was October before Lord Lufton was made a happy man—that is, if the fruition of his happiness was a greater joy than the anticipation of it. I will not say that the happiness of marriage is like the Dead Sea fruit—an apple which, when eaten, turns to bitter ashes in the mouth. Such pretended sarcasm would be very false. Nevertheless, is it not the fact that the sweetest morsel of love's feast has been eaten, that the freshest, fairest blush of the flower has been snatched and has passed away, when the ceremony at the altar has been performed, and legal possession has been given? There is an aroma of love, an undefinable delicacy of flavor, which escapes and is gone before the church portal is left, vanishing with the maiden name, and incompatible with the solid comfort appertaining to the rank of wife. To love one's own spouse, and to be loved by her, is the ordinary lot of man, and is a duty exacted under penalties. But to be allowed to love youth and beauty that is not one's own—to know that one is loved by a soft being who still hangs cowering from the eye of the world as though her love were all but illicit—can it be that a man is made happy when a state of antici-
