man, and in danger of being spoiled. Fairfax and Basil had never been more than mere acquaintances, and neither liked the other. Teresa understood that a mentally conventional man could never like Basil; and she was entertained by the attempt which Fairfax, like most of the men who had admired her, made to manufacture domestic infelicity for her. They were so sure that she could not be happy with a man like Basil!
Fairfax on this evening was full of regrets for his impending departure. He would have to be away from New York for two weeks on business, he said, with a melancholy look. He was in a mood, half of pique with her, half of more liking than he had ever shown. Teresa often glanced down the table at Basil, during their talk, but could never discover that he looked at her. She thought he was looking tired and excited; and he seemed absorbed in his neighbour, a very pretty young woman whom Teresa did not know. Teresa had repeated to Fairfax Basil's comment on some remark of his own, and his pique was due to this.
"Do you tell your husband every earthly thing?" he enquired.
"Everything!" said Teresa joyously.
"And he reads your letters, too, I suppose."
"All of 'em. And I read his."
"You think you do, you mean?"
