t to shut yourself up;--you should endeavour to
assimilate your tastes to his."

"I do not known what his tastes are," said Alice, "nor where
he is while I am at home."

"He is," said Mrs. Middleton, "among his friends and his
acquaintance. He is where I want to take you,--where he will
see you amused and admired, and love you all the better for
it."

"Not for going against his wishes?" said Alice, gently.

"He _must_ have misunderstood you, my dear child."

"No, he has _not_," she answered with firmness; the colour in
her cheek was slightly heightened; and after a pause she said
earnestly--"I think I understand you now, dear Mrs. Middleton,
and I feel your kindness; but do not urge me on this subject:
you would give me more pain than pleasure, and do me more harm
than good."

She rose suddenly, went to the table, and took from it a bunch
of violets, which she gave me. When she sat down again, her
face was as calm as usual.

On our way home, Mrs. Middleton seemed absorbed in thought;
and her manner to Henry, whom we found waiting for us in
Brook-street, was unusually cold.

Whenever we went into society we met him, and he still
contrived never to lose sight of me; and by looks, by words
quickly uttered, by sudden changes of tone and manner, to
convey to me the knowledge of his secret feelings. The tone of
those feelings, and his mode of conversation, varied from day
to day. Sometimes he was moody and almost savage in his
manner, and every word he uttered bordered on a threat. At
other times he seemed only anxious to re-establish between us
a footing of confidence and intimacy. On one of these
occasions, I met him at a ball at Lady Wyndham's, my
Dorsetshire acquaintance. I had been dancing with him, and
afterwards had walked into a room which was cool, compared
with those that preceded it. Several people were standing
about a round table covered with prints, albums, and
caricatures. We sat down on a small couch by the window; and
after some trifling conversation, in which he incidentally
named his wife, I told him that I could not understand his
line of conduct with regard to her. "I am not speaking, now,
of your feelings or your affections," I added hastily;
"although God knows there would be enough to wonder over on
that score; but of your way of going on as a married man.
There may be excuses for what is involuntary in our feelings,
but surely none for determined and systematic neglect."

"Neglect," h