t once, it would never be
got over. I almost think she is right, though if I was her I should long
to have it over." That was Florence's judgment in the matter. Harry sat
between them, like a sheep as he was, very meekly--not without some
enjoyment of his sheepdom, but still feeling that he was a sheep. At
half-past eight he started up, having already been told that a cab was
waiting for him at the door. He pressed Cecilia's hand as he went,
indicating his feeling that he had before him an affair of some
magnitude, and then, of course, had a word or two to say to Florence in
private on the landing. Oh, those delicious private words, the need for
which comes so often during those short halcyon days of one's lifetime!
They were so pleasant that Harry would fain have returned to repeat them
after he was seated in his cab; but the inevitable wheels carried him
onward with cruel velocity, and he was in Bolton Street before the
minutes had sufficed for him to collect his thoughts.

Lady Ongar, when he entered the room, was sitting in her accustomed
chair, near a little work-table which she always used, and did not rise
to meet him. It was a pretty chair, soft and easy, made with a back for
lounging, but with no arms to impede the circles of a lady's hoops.
Harry knew the chair well, and had spoken of sits graceful comfort in
some of his visits to Bolton Street. She was seated there when he
entered; and though he was not sufficiently experienced in the secrets
of feminine attire to know at once that she had dressed herself with
care, he did perceive that she was very charming, not only by force of
her own beauty, but by the aid also of her dress. And yet she was in
deep mourning--in the deepest mourning; nor was there anything about her
of which complaint might fairly be made by those who do complain on such
subjects. Her dress was high round her neck, and the cap on her head was
indisputably a widow's cap; but enough of her brown hair was to be seen
to tell of its rich loveliness; and the black dress was so made as to
show the full perfection of her form; and with it all there was that
graceful feminine brightness that care and money can always give, and
which will not come without care and money. It might be well, she had
thought, to surrender her income, and become poor and dowdy hereafter,
but there could be no reason why Harry Clavering should not be made to
know all that he had lost.

"Well, Harry," she said, as he step