s had of course been frequently
discussed. He had told her everything, down to the exact amount of
money which he had to support him till he should again be enabled to
earn an income, and had received assurances from her that everything
would be just as it should be after a lapse of a few months. The
Liberals would, as a matter of course, come in, and equally as a
matter of course, Phineas would be in office. She spoke of this with
such certainty that she almost convinced him. Having tempted him away
from the safety of permanent income, the party could not do less than
provide for him. If he could only secure a seat he would be safe; and
it seemed that Tankerville would be a certain seat. This certainty he
would not admit; but, nevertheless, he was comforted by his friend.
When you have done the rashest thing in the world it is very pleasant
to be told that no man of spirit could have acted otherwise. It was a
matter of course that he should return to public life,--so said Lady
Laura;--and doubly a matter of course when he found himself a widower
without a child. "Whether it be a bad life or a good life," said Lady
Laura, "you and I understand equally well that no other life is worth
having after it. We are like the actors, who cannot bear to be away
from the gaslights when once they have lived amidst their glare." As
she said this they were leaning together over one of the parapets of
the great fortress, and the sadness of the words struck him as they
bore upon herself. She also had lived amidst the gaslights, and now
she was self-banished into absolute obscurity. "You could not have
been content with your life in Dublin," she said.

"Are you content with your life in Dresden?"

"Certainly not. We all like exercise; but the man who has had his
leg cut off can't walk. Some can walk with safety; others only with
a certain peril; and others cannot at all. You are in the second
position, but I am in the last."

"I do not see why you should not return."

"And if I did what would come of it? In place of the seclusion
of Dresden, there would be the seclusion of Portman Square or of
Saulsby. Who would care to have me at their houses, or to come to
mine? You know what a hazardous, chancy, short-lived thing is the
fashion of a woman. With wealth, and wit, and social charm, and
impudence, she may preserve it for some years, but when she has once
lost it she can never recover it. I am as much lost to the people who
did know m