l--she shivers. "The world well lost," she
mutters to herself, and then, with listless steps, and strange,
affrighted eyes, she drags herself up stairs to her room.

PART II.

In a charming house, surrounded by an acre of ground, turned into a
small paradise, a house not more than two miles from Hyde Park Corner,
live Philip Vansittart and Virginia Hayward. The neighbourhood knows
them as Mr. and Mrs. Vansittart, and has not the very remotest
conception that in so perfectly ordered an establishment, there is
anything which they would designate as "odd." If anything could arouse
suspicion in the breasts of the servants who wait upon them, and the
tradespeople who serve them it would be the extraordinary tenderness
subsisting between them; the excessive courtesy and consideration of Mr.
Vansittart for Mrs. Vansittart, and the entire absence of that
familiarity commonly seen between affectionate husbands and wives, which
almost invariably engenders subsequent contempt.

The house is furnished with exquisite taste. Mr. Vansittart is
continually bringing home artistic treasures to add to its
embellishment. Mrs. Vansittart has a carriage and a fine pair of horses.
She seldom, however, drives into town except to the play, or to dine. A
great many gentlemen of distinction and rank come to the house, who
treat Mrs. Vansittart like a queen, and a few ladies; clever, literary
ladies, ladies holding peculiar views--very rarely the consorts of
distinguished and well-born men.

Is Philip happy? Is Virginia happy? To this I can only reply by another
question. Is any one Happy? They love each other with unfailing
tenderness--they are all the world to each other--the thought of
separation would be death to them. And yet the heart of either is gnawed
by a secret worm. In the midst of his busy life, Philip can never forget
that he has sacrificed the woman whom he adores from the very bottom of
his soul, and the horrible suspicion will stab him, that he has
sacrificed her needlessly. They are living as husband and wife, and yet
no feeling of weariness, of satiety, comes near them--each day draws
them nearer together; makes them find fresh points in each other to love
and admire. Were she his wife, occupying her proper sphere in society,
sought after, courted, admired, he with no feeling of self-reproach, she
with no consciousness (which she must feel though she never betrays) of
cruelty and selfishness on his part; might they n