pectability incarnate, she had so dealt with the sorrows and evils of
the world that she had rendered them utterly acceptable to Mrs. Grundy,
Mr. Grundy, and all the Misses Grundy. People said she dived into the
depths of human nature, and brought up nothing that need scandalise a
curate's grandmother, or the whole-aunt of an archdeacon; and this
was so true that she had made a really prodigious amount of money. Her
large, her solid, her unrelenting books lay upon every table. Even the
smart set kept them, uncut--like pretty sinners who have never been
"found out"--to give an air of haphazard intellectuality to frisky
boudoirs, All the clergy, however unable to get their tithes, bought
them. All bishops alluded to them in "pulpit utterances." Fabulous
prices were paid for them by magazine editors. They ran as serials
through all the tale of months. The suburbs battened on them. The
provinces adored them. Country people talked of no other literature. In
fact, Mrs. Eustace Greyne was a really fabulous success.

Why, then, should she heave these heavy sighs in Belgrave Square? Why
should she lift an intellectual hand as though to tousle the glossy
chestnut bandeaux which swept back from her forcible forehead, and screw
her reassuring features into these wrinkles of perplexity and distress?

The door opened, and Mr. Eustace Greyne appeared, "What is it,
Eugenia?" upon his lips.

Mr. Greyne was a number of years younger than his celebrated wife,
and looked even younger than his years. He was a very smart man, with
smooth, jet-black hair, which he wore parted in the middle; pleasant,
dark eyes that could twinkle gently; a clear, pale complexion; and a
nice, tall figure. One felt, in glancing at him, that he had been an
Eton boy, and had at least thought of going into the militia at some
period of his life. His history can be briefly told.

Scarcely had he emerged into the world before he met and was married to
Mrs. Eustace Greyne, then Miss Eugenia Hannibal-Barker. He had had no
time to sow a single oat, wild or otherwise; no time to adore a barmaid,
or wish to have his name linked with that of an actress; no time to do
anything wrong, or even to know, with the complete accuracy desired
by all persevering young men, what was really wrong. Miss Eugenia
Hannibal-Barker sailed upon his horizon, and he struck his flag to
matrimony. Ever since then he had been her husband, and had never, even
for one second, emerged beyond the