farthing for her husband; and he seems to
have his mind so full of grand business schemes as to have no place left
for the image of his wife. At least, so I read him."

"How has this matter affected their relation one to the other?"

"I have not seen them together since her return, and therefore cannot
speak from actual observation," she replied.

There was nothing very definite in all this, yet it revealed such an
utter abandonment of life's best hopes--such a desolation of love's
pleasant land--such a dark future for one who might have been so nobly
blest in a true marriage union, that I turned from the theme with a sad
heart.

CHAPTER XX.

Almost daily, while the pleasant fall weather lasted, did I meet the
handsome carriage of Mrs. Dewey; but I noticed that she went less
through the town, and oftener out into the country. And I also noticed
that she rode alone more frequently than she had been accustomed to do.
Formerly, one fashionable friend or another, who felt it to be an honor
to sit in the carriage of Mrs. Dewey, was generally to be seen in her
company when she went abroad. Now, the cases were exceptional. I also
noticed a gathering shade of trouble on her face.

The fact was, opinion had commenced setting against her. The unhappy
affair at Saratoga was not allowed to sleep in the public mind of S----.
It was conned over, magnified, distorted, and added to, until it assumed
most discreditable proportions; and ladies who respected themselves
began to question whether it was altogether reputable to be known as her
intimate friends. The less scrupulous felt the force of example as set
by these, and began receding also. In a large city, like New York, the
defection would only have been partial; for there, one can be included
in many fashionable circles, while only a few of them may be penetrated
by a defaming rumor. But in a small town like S----, the case is
different.

I was surprised when I comprehended the meaning of this apparent
isolation of herself by Mrs. Dewey, and saw, in progress, the ban of
social ostracism. While I pitied the victim, I was glad that we had
virtue enough, even among our weak-minded votaries of fashion, to stamp
with disapproval the conduct of which she had been guilty.

"I saw Mrs. Dewey this morning," said my wife, one day, late in
November. "She was in at Howard's making some purchases."

"Did you speak to her?"

"Yes, we passed a few words. How much she has chan