his future wife, but in a moment, as we were at
cross-purposes, perceived that he meant Lady Vandeleur. This seemed to
me really ominous. It stuck in my mind after he had left me. I was half
tempted to write him a note, to say, "There is, after all, perhaps,
something worse than your jilting Miss Bernardstone would be; and that
is the danger that your rupture with Lady Vandeleur may become more of a
bond than your marrying her would have been For Heaven's sake, let your
sacrifice _be_ a sacrifice; keep it in its proper place!"

Of course I did n't write; even the slight responsibility I had already
incurred began to frighten me, and I never saw Mr. Tester again till he
was the husband of Joscelind Bernardstone. They have now been married
some four years; they have two children, the eldest of whom is, as he
should be, a boy. Sir Edmund waited till his grandson had made good his
place in the world, and then, feeling it was safe, he quietly, genially
surrendered his trust. He died, holding the hand of his daughter-in-law,
and giving it doubtless a pressure which was an injunction to be brave.
I don't know what he thought of the success of his plan for his son;
but perhaps, after all, he saw nothing amiss, for Joscelind is the last
woman in the world to have troubled him with her sorrows. From him,
no doubt, she successfully concealed that bewilderment on which I have
touched. You see I speak of her sorrows as if they were a matter of
common recognition; certain it is that any one who meets her must see
that she does n't pass her life in joy. Lady Vandeleur, as you know, has
never married again; she is still the most beautiful widow in England.
She enjoys the esteem of every one, as well as the approbation of her
conscience, for every one knows the sacrifice she made, knows that she
was even more in love with Sir Ambrose than he was with her. She goes
out again, of course, as of old, and she constantly meets the baronet
and his wife. She is supposed to be even "very nice" to Lady Tester,
and she certainly treats her with exceeding civility. But you know (or
perhaps you don't know) all the deadly things that, in London, may lie
beneath that method. I don't in the least mean that Lady Vandeleur has
any deadly intentions; she is a very good woman, and I am sure that in
her heart she thinks she lets poor Joscelind off very easily. But the
result of the whole situation is that Joscelind is in dreadful fear of
her, for how can she