ection of the law; to insist on a restitution of conjugal rights
or on a judicial separation. At another time she sinks into a state of
abject depression; declares that it is impossible for her, in Stella's
deplorable situation, to face society; and recommends immediate
retirement to some place on the Continent in which they can live
cheaply. This latter suggestion Stella is not only ready, but eager, to
adopt. She proves it by asking for my advice, in a postscript; no doubt
remembering the happy days when I courted her in Paris, and the many
foreign friends of mine who called at our hotel.

The postscript gave me the excuse that I wanted. I knew perfectly well
that it would be better for me not to see her--and I went to London, for
the sole purpose of seeing her, by the first train.

London, February 12.--I found mother and daughter together in the
drawing-room. It was one of Mrs. Eyrecourt's days of depression. Her
little twinkling eyes tried to cast on me a look of tragic reproach; she
shook her dyed head and said, "Oh. Winterfield, I didn't think you would
have done this!--Stella, fetch me my smelling bottle."

But Stella refused to take the hint. She almost brought the tears into
my eyes, she received me so kindly. If her mother had not been in the
room--but her mother _was_ in the room; I had no other choice than to
enter on my business, as if I had been the family lawyer.

Mrs. Eyrecourt began by reproving Stella for asking my advice, and then
assured me that she had no intention of leaving London. "How am I to get
rid of my house?" she asked, irritably enough. I knew that "her house"
(as she called it) was the furnished upper part of a house belonging
to another person, and that she could leave it at a short notice. But I
said nothing. I addressed myself to Stella.

"I have been thinking of two or three places which you might like," I
went on. "The nearest place belongs to an old French gentleman and his
wife. They have no children, and they don't let lodgings; but I believe
they would be glad to receive friends of mine, if their spare rooms are
not already occupied. They live at St. Germain--close to Paris."

I looked at Mrs. Eyrecourt as I said those last words--I was as sly as
Father Benwell himself. Paris justified my confidence: the temptation
was too much for her. She not only gave way, but actually mentioned
the amount of rent which she could afford to pay. Stella whispered her
thanks to me as I went