lary of the office which would be offered to him, or to the
terrible shortness of his own means of living. He knew well enough
himself that he must take some final step in life, or very shortly
return into absolute obscurity. This woman who had been so strongly
advising him to take a certain course as to his future life, was very
rich;--and he had fully decided that he would sooner or later ask
her to be his wife. He knew well that all her friends regarded their
marriage as certain. The Duchess had almost told him so in as many
words. Lady Chiltern, who was much more to him than the Duchess,
had assured him that if he should have a wife to bring with him to
Harrington, the wife would be welcome. Of what other wife could Lady
Chiltern have thought? Laurence Fitzgibbon, when congratulated on his
own marriage, had returned counter congratulations. Mr. Low had said
that it would of course come to pass. Even Mrs. Bunce had hinted
at it, suggesting that she would lose her lodger and be a wretched
woman. All the world had heard of the journey to Prague, and all the
world expected the marriage. And he had come to love the woman with
excessive affection, day by day, ever since the renewal of their
intimacy at Broughton Spinnies. His mind was quite made up;--but
he was by no means sure of her mind as the rest of the world might
be. He knew of her, what nobody else in all the world knew,--except
himself. In that former period of his life, on which he now sometimes
looked back as though it had been passed in another world, this woman
had offered her hand and fortune to him. She had done so in the
enthusiasm of her love, knowing his ambition and knowing his poverty,
and believing that her wealth was necessary to the success of his
career in life. He had refused the offer,--and they had parted
without a word. Now they had come together again, and she was
certainly among the dearest of his friends. Had she not taken that
wondrous journey to Prague in his behalf, and been the first among
those who had striven,--and had striven at last successfully,--to
save his neck from the halter? Dear to her! He knew well as he sat
with his eyes closed in the railway carriage that he must be dear to
her! But might it not well be that she had resolved that friendship
should take the place of love? And was it not compatible with her
nature,--with all human nature,--that in spite of her regard for him
she should choose to be revenged for the evil which