ew years since how delicious was that cut of roast goose
to be had for a shilling at the eating-house near Golden Square. Mrs.
Jones and Mrs. Green, Mrs. Walker and all the other mistresses, are
too vapid and stupid and humdrum for endurance. The theatres are dull
as Lethe, and politics have lost their salt. Success is the necessary
misfortune of life, but it is only to the very unfortunate that it
comes early.

Mrs. Furnival, when she had finished her letter and fastened it, drew
one of the heavy dining-room arm-chairs over against the fire, and
sat herself down to consider her past life, still holding the letter
in her lap. She had not on that morning been very careful with her
toilet, as was perhaps natural enough. The cares of the world were
heavy on her, and he would not be there to see her. Her hair was
rough, and her face was red, and she had hardly had the patience
to make straight the collar round her neck. To the eye she was
an untidy, angry, cross-looking woman. But her heart was full of
tenderness,--full to overflowing. She loved him now as well as ever
she had loved him:--almost more as the thought of parting from
him pressed upon her! Was he not all in all to her? Had she not
worshipped him during her whole life? Could she not forgive him?

Forgive him! Yes. Forgive him with the fullest, frankest, freest
pardon, if he would only take forgiveness. Should she burn that
letter in the fire, send to Biggs saying that the lodgings were not
wanted, and then throw herself at Tom's feet, imploring him to have
mercy upon her? All that she could do within her heart, and make her
words as passionate, as soft, and as poetical as might be those of a
young wife of twenty. But she felt that such words,--though she could
frame the sentence while sitting there,--could never get themselves
spoken. She had tried it, and it had been of no avail. Not only
should she be prepared for softness, but he also must be so prepared
and at the same moment. If he should push her from him and call her
a fool when she attempted that throwing of herself at his feet, how
would it be with her spirit then? No. She must go forth and the
letter must be left. If there were any hope of union for the future
it must come from a parting for the present. So she went up stairs
and summoned Rachel, remaining with her in consultation for some
half-hour. Then she descended with her bonnet and shawl, got into a
cab while Spooner stood at the door looking