analysis of it. The rest were less observant, or rather more indifferent as to the subtle lights and shades of Grace's not too-varying expression.
"Godfrey is at the Museum," she said; "he will be there all day."
In appearance and manner she had certainly improved since her marriage. Her face—formerly too red and round—was thinner and merely pink: she had perfect self-possession: she talked better: she had lived with Godfrey long enough to catch his way of looking at things—that is to say, she had caught it as a trick—she knew the view he would be likely to take of anything; as for his way of getting it, of that she knew nothing. She avoided the labyrinth. So people called her original—not knowing her husband. But the really curious thing was this: her husband thought her original too, and often admired her wit. Unconscious victim of egoism! It was his own.
"I think," went on Grace, "he quite forgot it was the anniversary of our wedding-day: so like him, you know, and I hadn't the heart to remind him."
"Good gracious!" said her mother, "don't be sentimental! You can't expect a man who works with his head to remember every little household matter."
"I don't expect it," said Grace; "you misunderstand me. I didn't remind him because he looked so happy, for him, when he started for the Museum. If I had said anything, he might have thought that he ought to stay at home, or take me to a concert or something of the sort, like an ordinary husband. Next week I dare say he will remember and be awfully grieved about it. He will think he has neglected a