ged!"

"For the worse?"

"Yes. She appears five years older than she did last summer, and has
such a sad, disappointed look, that I could not help pitying her from my
heart."

"There are few who need your pity more, Constance. I think she must be
wretched almost beyond endurance. So young, and the goblet which held
the shine of her life broken, and all its precious contents spilled in
the thirsty sand at her feet. Every one seems to have receded from her."

"The common sentiment is against her; and yet, I am of those who never
believed her any thing worse than indiscreet."

"Her indiscretion was in itself a heinous offence against good morals,"
said I; "and while she has my compassion, I have no wish to see a
different course of treatment pursued towards her."

"I haven't much faith in the soundness of this common sentiment against
her," replied Constance. "There is in it some self-righteousness, a good
deal of pretended horror at her conduct, but very little real virtuous
indignation. It is my opinion that eight out of ten of her old
fashionable friends would be just as intimate with her as ever, though
they knew all about the affair at Saratoga, if they only were in the
secret. It is in order to stand well with the world that they lift their
hands in pretended holy horror."

"We cannot expect people to act from any higher principles than they
possess," said I; "and it is something gained to good morals, when even
those who are corrupt in heart affect to be shocked at departures from
virtue in their friends."

"Yes, I can see that. Still, when I look beneath the surface, I feel
that, so far as the motives are concerned, a wrong has been done; and
my soul stirs with a feeling of pity towards Mrs. Dewey, and indignation
against her heartless friends. Do you know, dear, that since I met her
this morning, I have had serious thoughts of calling upon her?"

"You!"

Constance gave me one of her placid smiles in answer to my surprised
ejaculation.

"Yes; why not?"

"What will people say?"

"I can tell you what they will not say," she replied,

"Well?"

"They will not say, as they do of her, that of all men, I care least for
my husband."

"I am not afraid of their saying that; but--"

I was a little bewildered by this unexpected thought on the part of my
wife, and did not at first see the matter clear.

"She has held herself very high, and quite aloof from many of her old
friends," Constance resumed. "W