you look so grave?"

Lady Winsleigh regarded her fixedly. How radiantly lovely the young wife
looked!--her cheeks had never been more delicately rosy, or her eyes
more brilliant. The dark fur cloak she wore with its rich sable
trimmings, and the little black velvet _toque_ that rested on her fair
curls, set off the beauty of her clear skin to perfection, and her
rival, who stood gazing at her with such close scrutiny, envied her more
than ever as she was once again reluctantly forced to admit to herself
the matchless loveliness of the innocent creature whose happiness she
now sought to destroy.

"Do I look grave, Thelma?" she said with a slight smile. "Well, perhaps
I've a reason for my gravity. And so your husband is away?"

"Yes. He went quite early this morning,--a telegram summoned him and he
was obliged to go." Here she drew up a chair to the fire, and began to
loosen her wraps. "Sit down, Clara! I will ring for tea."

"No, don't ring," said Lady Winsleigh. "Not yet! I want to talk to you
privately." She sank languidly on a velvet lounge and looked Thelma
straight in the eyes.

"Dear Thelma," she continued in a sweetly tremulous, compassionate
voice. "Can you bear to hear something very painful and shocking,
something that I'm afraid will grieve you very much?"

The color fled from the girl's fair face--her eyes grew startled.

"What do you mean, Clara? Is it anything about--about Philip?"

Lady Winsleigh bent her head in assent, but remained silent.

"If," continued Thelma, with a little return of the rosy hue to her
cheeks. "If it is something else about that--that person at the theatre,
Clara, I would rather not hear it! I think I have been wrong in
listening to any such stories--it is so seldom that gossip of any kind
is true. It is not a wife's duty to receive scandals about her husband.
And suppose he does see Miss Vere, how do I know that it may not be on
business for some friend of his?--because I do know that on that night
when he went behind the scenes at the Brilliant, he said it was on
business. Mr. Lovelace used often to go and see Miss Mary Anderson, all
to persuade her to take a play written by a friend of his--and Philip,
who is always kind-hearted, may perhaps be doing something of the same
sort. I feel I have been wicked to have even a small doubt of my
husband's love,--so, Clara, do not let us talk any more on a subject
which only displeases me."

"You must choose your own way of life