ero! my poor dear! He thinking I cared for nothing but amusement,
flattery. Was ever a punishment so cruel to the noblest of generous
husbands! Because I know he will overlook it, make light of it, never
reproach his Riette. And the rose he married comes to him a shrivelled
leaf of a potpourri heap. You haven't seen me yet. I was their
"beautiful woman." I feel for my husband most.'

She took breath. Carinthia pressed her lips on the cheek sensible to a
hiss, and Henrietta pursued, in words liker to sobs: 'Anywhere, Cadiz,
St. Jean de Luz, hospital work either, anywhere my husband likes,
anything! I want to work, or I'll sit and rock the children. I'm awake
at last. Janey, we're lambs to vultures with those men. I don't pretend
I was the perfect fool. I thought myself so safe. I let one of them
squeeze my hand one day, he swears. You know what a passion is; you have
it for mountains and battles, I for music. I do remember, one morning
before sunrise, driving back to town out of Windsor,--a dance, the
officers of the Guards,--and my lord's trumpeter at the back of the
coach blowing notes to melt a stone, I found a man's hand had mine. I
remember Lord Fleetwood looking over his shoulder and smiling hard and
lashing his horses. But listen--yes, at Calesford it happened. He--oh,
hear the name, then; Chillon must never hear it;--Lord Brailstone was
denied the right to step on Lord Fleetwood's grounds. The Opera company
had finished selections from my Pirata. I went out for cool air; little
Sir Meeson beside me. I had a folded gauze veil over my head, tied at
the chin in a bow. Some one ran up to me--Lord Brailstone. He poured
forth their poetry. They suppose it the wine for their "beautiful
woman." I dare say I laughed or told him to go, and he began a tirade
against Lord Fleetwood. There's no mighty difference between one beast
of prey and another. Let me get away from them all! Though now! they
would not lift an eyelid. This is my husband's treasure returning
to him. We have to be burnt to come to our senses. Janey--oh! you do
well!--it was fiendish; old ballads, melodrama plays, I see they were
built on men's deeds. Janey, I could not believe it, I have to believe,
it is forced down my throat;--that man, your husband, because he could
not forgive my choosing Chillon, schemed for Chillon's ruin. I could not
believe it until I saw in the glass this disfigured wretch he has made
of me. Livia serves him, she hates him for the