o
on; I even admired the extraordinary delicacy and dexterity with which
it was all done. "Anything" (I thought to myself, in the madness of that
miserable time) "so long as it helps me to win the Major's confidence!
Anything, so long as I discover what those last words of my husband's
really mean!"

The transformation of my face was accomplished. The chambermaid pointed
with her wicked forefinger in the direction of the glass.

"Bear in mind, ma'am, what you looked like when you sent for me," she
said. "And just see for yourself how you look now. You're the prettiest
woman (of your style) in London. Ah what a thing pearl-powder is, when
one knows how to use it!"

CHAPTER VIII. THE FRIEND OF THE WOMEN.

I FIND it impossible to describe my sensations while the carriage was
taking me to Major Fitz-David's house. I doubt, indeed, if I really felt
or thought at all, in the true sense of those words.

From the moment when I had resigned myself into the hands of the
chambermaid I seemed in some strange way to have lost my ordinary
identity--to have stepped out of my own character. At other times my
temperament was of the nervous and anxious sort, and my tendency was to
exaggerate any difficulties that might place themselves in my way. At
other times, having before me the prospect of a critical interview with
a stranger, I should have considered with myself what it might be wise
to pass over, and what it might be wise to say. Now I never gave
my coming interview with the Major a thought; I felt an unreasoning
confidence in myself, and a blind faith in _him_. Now neither the past
nor the future troubled me; I lived unreflectingly in the present. I
looked at the shops as we drove by them, and at the other carriages as
they passed mine. I noticed--yes, and enjoyed--the glances of admiration
which chance foot-passengers on the pavement cast on me. I said to
myself, "This looks well for my prospect of making a friend of
the Major!" When we drew up at the door in Vivian Place, it is no
exaggeration to say that I had but one anxiety--anxiety to find the
Major at home.

The door was opened by a servant out of livery, an old man who looked as
if he might have been a soldier in his earlier days. He eyed me with
a grave attention, which relaxed little by little into sly approval. I
asked for Major Fitz-David. The answer was not altogether encouraging:
the man was not sure whether his master were at home or not.

I gave him m