over a Parisian _bonnet_ or two or some articles of
that _sort_. I'm nearly in _rags_, Kirton's as undutiful as he _can_ be
but it's that _wife_ of his.

"Your affectionate mother,

"C. Kirton."

The letter will give you some guide to the policy of Maude Hartledon
since her marriage. She did find she had made a mistake. She cared no
more for her husband now than she had cared for him before; and it was a
positive fact that she despised him for walking so tamely into the snare
laid for him by herself and her mother. Nevertheless she triumphed; he
had made her a peeress, and she did care for that; she cared also for the
broad lands of Hartledon. That she was unwise in assuming her own will so
promptly, with little regard to consulting his, she might yet discover.

At Versailles that day--to which place they went in accordance with
Maude's wish--there occurred a rencontre which Lord Hartledon would
willingly have gone to the very ends of the earth to avoid. It happened
to be rather full for Versailles; many of the visitors in Paris
apparently having taken it into their minds to go; indeed, Maude's wish
was induced by the fact that some of her acquaintances in the gay capital
were going also.

You may possibly remember a very small room in the galleries, exceedingly
small as compared with the rest, chiefly hung with English portraits.
They were in this room, amidst the little crowd that filled it, when Lord
Hartledon became aware that his wife had encountered some long-lost
friend. There was much greeting and shaking of hands. He caught the
name--Kattle; and being a somewhat singular name, he recognised it for
that of the lady who had been sojourning at Cannes, and had sent the news
of Miss Ashton's supposed engagement to the countess-dowager. There was
the usual babble on both sides--where each was staying, had been staying,
would be staying; and then Lord Hartledon heard the following words from
Mrs. Kattle.

"How strange I should have seen you! I have met you, the Fords, and the
Ashtons here, and did not know that any of you were in Paris. It's true
I only arrived yesterday. Such a long illness, my dear, I had at Turin!"

"The Ashtons!" involuntarily repeated Maude. "Are they here?--in the
chateau?" And it instantly occurred to her how she should like to meet
them, and parade her triumph. If ever a spark of feeling for her husband
arose within Maude's heart, it was when she thought of Anne Ashton. She
was