The Limit

of his wife's portrait. He often sat there for an hour when she was out, looking at it. Any one watching him would have thought he was in a state of calm and stupid content. In rea

t gifted with the power of expression, either i

o take the outward form, principally, of care for her happiness. When she was actually present, she still dazzled him so much that he could show his feeling only by listening to and agreeing with every word she said, by doing what she asked him, and by trying to protect her, often without her knowledge, from any kind of pain or trouble. She would have been amazed had she realised the violence of his devotion to her. Apparently cool and mat

se his moth

timate with any one. Harry was lively, amusing, a brilliant talker; kind, good-natured, a capital chap. He appreciated Valentia, or he could not have painted

pressed. He thought it was me

pen; summer was not far off, and in the summer, at the end of the season, they would go down to the Green Gate, the lovely country house with the dream garden as Va

e, they were not alone. Dear little Daphne was always with them, dear little thing (she was nearly six feet hi

was made to be a bachelor. Was he tired of Harry? Not a bit! Harry wa

y, that Valentia cared less than nothing for any admirers, but she certainly was awfully fond of Harry. And no wonder! Harry was the best fellow in

same thoughts pass

spring shower. Had Valen

e hall, and saw her fur

d of it-perhaps it was out of fashion; if so,

eet that would result in a collection of fur-lined cloaks being sent for her choice that evening. T