was ashamed
to tell Christie, so that he calls deceit; and oh, he spoke to me so
cruelly once! But he was very sorry afterwards, poor dear! Why are girls
brought up so silly? all piano, and no sense; and why are men sillier
still to go and marry such silly things? A wife! I am not so much as a
servant. Oh, I am finely humiliated, and," with a sudden hearty naivete
all her own, "it serves me just right."

While Lady Cicely was puzzling this out, in came a letter. Rosa opened
it, read it, and gave a cry like a wounded deer.

"Oh!" she cried, "I am a miserable woman. What will become of me?"

The letter informed her bluntly that her husband drove his brougham out
every night to pursue a criminal amour.

While Rosa was wringing her hands in real anguish of heart, Lady Cicely
read the letter carefully.

"I don't believe this," said she quietly.

"Not true! Why, who would be so wicked as to stab a poor, inoffensive
wretch like me, if it wasn't true?"

"The first ugly woman would, in a minute. Don't you see the witer
can't tell you where he goes? Dwives his bwougham out! That is all your
infaumant knows."

"Oh, my dear friend, bless you! What have I been complaining to you
about? All is light, except to lose his love. What shall I do? I will
never tell him. I will never affront him by saying I suspected him."

"Wosa, if you do that, you will always have a serpent gnawing you. No;
you must put the letter quietly into his hand, and say, 'Is there any
truth in that?'"

"Oh, I could not. I haven't the courage. If I do that, I shall know by
his face if there is any truth in it."

"Well, and you must know the twuth. You shall know it. I want to know
it too; for if he does not love you twuly, I will nevaa twust myself to
anything so deceitful as a man."

Rosa at last consented to follow this advice.

After dinner she put the letter into Christopher's hand, and asked him
quietly was there any truth in that: then her hands trembled, and her
eyes drank him.

Christopher read it, and frowned; then he looked up, and said, "No, not
a word. What scoundrels there are in the world! To go and tell you that,
NOW! Why, you little goose! have you been silly enough to believe it?"

"No," said she irresolutely. "But DO you drive the brougham out every
night?"

"Except Sunday."

"Where?"

"My dear wife, I never loved you as I love you now; and if it was not
for you, I should not drive the brougham out of nights. That is all