en who ruin all this for us, I believe, and prevent our
enjoying it. Look at Adele."

Honora had indeed looked at her.

"I found out the other day what is the matter with her. She's madly in
love with Dicky."

"With--with her former husband?"

"Yes, with poor little innocent Dicky Farnham, who's probably still
congratulating himself, like a canary bird that's got out of a cage.
Somehow Dicky's always reminded me of a canary; perhaps it's his name.
Isn't it odd that she should be in love with him?"

"I think," replied Honora, slowly, "that it's a tragedy."

"It is a tragedy," Mrs. Kame hastily agreed. "To me, this case is one of
the most incomprehensible aspects of the tender passion. Adele's idea
of existence is a steeplechase with nothing but water-jumps, Dicky's
to loiter around in a gypsy van, and sit in the sun. During his brief
matrimonial experience with her, he nearly died for want of breath--or
rather the life was nearly shaken out of him. And yet she wants Dicky
again. She'd run away with him to-morrow if he should come within
hailing distance of her."

"And her husband?" asked Honora.

"Eustace? Did you ever see him? That accounts for your question. He only
left France long enough to come over here and make love to her, and he
swears he'll never leave it again. If she divorces him, he'll have to
have alimony."

At last Honora was able to gain her own room, but even seclusion, though
preferable to the companionship of her guests, was almost intolerable.
The tragedy of Mrs. Rindge had served--if such a thing could be--to
enhance her own; a sudden spectacle of a woman in a more advanced stage
of desperation. Would she, Honora, ever become like that? Up to the
present she felt that suffering had refined her, and a great love had
burned away all that was false. But now--now that her god had turned to
clay, what would happen? Desperation seemed possible, notwithstanding
the awfulness of the example. No, she would never come to that! And
she repeated it over and over to herself as she dressed, as though to
strengthen her will.

During her conversation with Mrs. Kame she had more than once suspected,
in spite of her efforts, that the lady had read her state of mind.
For Mrs. Kame's omissions were eloquent to the discerning: Chiltern's
relatives had been mentioned with a casualness intended to imply that no
breach existed, and the fiction that Honora could at any moment take up
her former life delicately s