Suddenly the music ceased. Mr. Rylands had left the harmonium and walked
over to the hearth. Mrs. Rylands stopped, and came towards him with a
flushed, anxious face.
"It don't seem to go right, does it?" she said, with her nervous laugh.
"I suppose I'm getting too old now, and I don't quite remember it."
"Better forget it altogether," he replied gravely. He stopped at seeing
a singular change in her face, and added awkwardly, "When I told you I
didn't want you to be ashamed of your past, nor to try to forget what
you were, I didn't mean such things as that!"
"What did you mean?" she said timidly.
The truth was that Mr. Rylands did not know. He had known this sort of
thing only in the abstract. He had never had the least acquaintance with
the class to which his wife had belonged, nor known anything of their
methods. It was a revelation to him now, in the woman he loved, and who
was his wife. He was not shocked so much as he was frightened.
"You shall have the dress to-morrow, Ellen," he said gently, "and
you can put away these gewgaws.
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