shine in the world. I have shone--on
the stage, I mean; but that's far from the way I had looked to. A
woman in my situation--a wife separated from her husband--can never
shine as I had hoped to, I fancy. But I've been admired in a way--and
it hasn't made me happy. Admiration can't make a woman happy if she
has a deeper heart than her desire of admiration will fill. If I could
have forgot, well and good; but I couldn't forget, and can't forget.
And one must have love, and devotion; but after having known yours,
Philip, whose else could I find sufficient?"

And now there was a pause while each, fearing that the other might not
desire reunion, hesitated to propose it; and so, each one waiting for
the other to say the word, both left it unsaid. When the talk was
finally renewed, it was with a return of the former constraint.

She asked us, with a little stiffness of manner, when we had come to
London; which led to our relation, between us, of all that had passed
since her departure from New York. She opened her eyes at the news of
our residence in Hampstead, and lost her embarrassment in her glad,
impulsive acceptance of my invitation to come and see us as soon as
possible. While Philip and she still kept their distance, as it were,
I knew not how far to go in cordiality, or I should have pressed her
to come and live with us. She wept and laughed, at the prospect of
seeing Fanny and my mother, and declared they must visit her in town.
And then her tongue faltered as the thought returned of Falconer's
probable interference with the quiet and safety of her further
residence in London; and her face turned anxious.

"'Faith! you need have no fear on that score," said Philip, quietly.
"Where does he live?"

She did not know, but she named a club, and a tavern, from which he
had dated importunate letters to her before she left London.

"Well," said Philip, rising, "I shall see a lawyer to-morrow, and you
may expect to hear from him soon regarding the settlement I make upon
you."

"You are too kind," she murmured. "I have no right to accept it of
you."

"Oh, yes, you have. I am always your husband, I tell you; and you will
have no choice but to accept. I know not what income you get by
acting; but this will suffice if you choose to leave the stage."

"But you?" she replied faintly, rising. "Shall I not see--?"

"I shall leave England in a few days: I don't know how long I shall be
abroad. But there will be Bert, and Fa