Josiah had been too much fatigued on his machinery hunt with Mr.
Clutterbuck R. Tubbs. They had lunched too richly, he said, and stood
about too long, and so all the Sunday he was peevish and fretful, and
required Theodora's constant attention. She must sit by his bedside all
the morning, and drive round and round all the afternoon.

He told her she was not looking well. These excursions did not suit
either of them, and he would be glad to get to England.

He asked a few questions about Versailles, and Theodora vouchsafed no
unnecessary information. Nor did she tell him of her father's
good-fortune. The widow had expressly asked her not to. She wished it to
appear in the New York Herald first of all, she said. And they could
have a regular rejoicing at the banquet on Monday night.

"Men are all bad," she had told Theodora during their ante-dinner chat.
"Selfish brutes most of them; but nature has arranged that we happen to
want them, and it is not for me to go against nature. Your father is a
gentleman and he keeps me from yawning, and I have enough money to be
able to indulge that and whatever other caprices I may have acquired; so
I think we shall be happy. But a man in the abstract--don't amount to
much!" And Theodora had laughed, but now she wondered if ever she would
think it was true. Would Hector ever appear in the light of a caprice
she could afford, to keep her from yawning? Could she ever truly say,
"He don't amount to much!" Alas! he seemed now to amount to everything
in the world.