le.
My dear husband--who knows my whole life as well as I know it
myself--expressed the wish that we should invite these ladies. He
wrongly supposed that _his_ estimate of me would be the estimate
accepted by his friends; and neither he nor I anticipated that the
misfortunes of my past life would be revealed by some person acquainted
with them, whose treachery we have yet to discover. The least I can
do, by way of acknowledging your kindness, is to place you in the same
position toward me which the other ladies now occupy. The circumstances
under which I have become the wife of Mr. Germaine are, in some
respects, very remarkable. They are related, without suppression or
reserve, in a little narrative which my husband wrote, at the time of
our marriage, for the satisfaction of one of his absent relatives, whose
good opinion he was unwilling to forfeit. The manuscript is in this
portfolio. After what has happened, I ask you both to read it, as
a personal favor to me. It is for you to decide, when you know all,
whether I am a fit person for an honest woman to associate with or not."

She held out her hand, with a sweet, sad smile, and bid us good night.
My wife, in her impulsive way, forgot the formalities proper to the
occasion, and kissed her at parting. At that one little act of sisterly
sympathy, the fortitude which the poor creature had preserved all
through the evening gave way in an instant. She burst into tears.

I felt as fond of her and as sorry for her as my wife. But
(unfortunately) I could not take my wife's privilege of kissing her. On
our way downstairs, I found the opportunity of saying a cheering word to
her husband as he accompanied us to the door.

"Before I open this," I remarked, pointing to the portfolio under my
arm, "my mind is made up, sir, about one thing. If I wasn't married
already, I tell you this--I should envy you your wife."

He pointed to the portfolio in his turn.

"Read what I have written there," he said; "and you will understand what
those false friends of mine have made me suffer to-night."

The next morning my wife and I opened the portfolio, and read the
strange story of George Germaine's marriage.

The Narrative.

GEORGE GERMAINE WRITES, AND TELLS HIS OWN LOVE STORY.

CHAPTER I. GREENWATER BROAD

LOOK back, my memory, through the dim labyrinth of the past, through
the mingling joys and sorrows of twenty years. Rise again, my boyhood's
days, by the windi