nited,
and the cause of it, the immense good Janey could do to her country,
should certainly be considered by her, Henrietta said. She spoke
feverishly. A mention of St. Jean de Luz for a residence inflicted, it
appeared, a more violent toothache than she had suffered from the
proposal of quarters in Cadiz. And now her husband had money? . . . she
suggested his reinstatement in the English army. Chillon hushed that: his
chief had his word. Besides, he wanted schooling in war. Why had he
married! His love for her was the answer; and her beauty argued for the
love. But possessing her, he was bound to win her a name. So his
reasoning ran to an accord with his military instincts and ambition.
Nevertheless, the mournful strange fact she recalled, that they had never
waltzed together since they were made one, troubled his countenance in
the mirror of hers. Instead of the waltz, grief, low worries, dulness, an
eclipse of her, had been the beautiful creature's portion.

It established mighty claims to a young husband's indulgence. She hummed
a few bars of his favourite old Viennese waltz, with 'Chillon!'
invitingly and reproachfully. His loathing of Lord Fleetwood had to
withstand an envious jump at the legs in his vison of her partner on the
morrow. He said: 'You'll think of some one absent.'

'You really do wish me to go, my darling? It is Chillon's wish?' She
begged for the words; she had them, and then her feverishness abated to a
simple sparkling composure.

Carinthia had observed her. She was heart-sick under pressure of thoughts
the heavier for being formless. They signified in the sum her doom to see
her brother leave England for the war, and herself crumble to pieces from
the imagined figure of herself beside him on or near the field. They
could not be phrased, for they accused the beloved brother of a weakness
in the excessive sense of obligation to the beautiful woman who had
wedded him. Driving down to Southampton by the night-coach, her
tenderness toward Henrietta held other thoughts unshaped, except one,
that moved in its twilight, murmuring of how the love of pleasure keeps
us blind children. And how the innocents are pushed by it to snap at
wicked bait, which the wealthy angle with, pointed a charitable index on
some of our social story. The Countess Livia, not an innocent like
Henrietta had escaped the poisoned tongues by contracting a third
marriage--'in time!' Lady Arpington said; and the knotty question wa