Nor was it the splendid, resistless Lady Breton who had taken London by storm that Summer; but only a very miserable little personage, occasionally breaking the twilight hush of the warm room with a heavy, aching cough, that made her lean shivering nearer the pleasant blaze. In fact, Georgie had at last broken down, in body & mind, under the weight of her bitter mistake; which all her triumphs & her petty glories seemed only to make bitterer, with a sense of something empty & unsatisfied, lower than the surface-gayety of the ball-room. The pang had deepened & deepened, driving her farther into the ceaseless rush of society with the vain hope of losing her individual sorrow there; no one was gayer than Lady Breton. But at home, in the grand house, with its grave servants & its pictures & treasures, that was no more hope of forgetting than abroad. Any sympathy that might eventually have grown up between the old lord & his young wife, had been frozen by Georgie’s persistent indifference to him; & whatever love his worn-out old heart had at first lavished on her, was lost in the nearer interests of a good dinner or an amusing play. Lord Breton, in short, relapsed entirely into his bachelor-habits, & was only with his wife, or conscious of her existence when she presided at his table, or entered a ball-room at his side. He was not ungenerous; he allowed her plenty of liberty & still had a comfortable pleasure in feeling that he was the possessor of the most charming woman in London—but day by day, she became less a part of his life. And still at her heart clung the love that she had despised of old, & whose unconquerable reality she was learning now—too late. Jack Egerton’s reproaches seemed to have been the last drop in her cup of shame & bitterness—again & again came the wretched, haunting thought that she had lost Guy’s esteem forever, & nothing could win back the place in his heart that she had sold so cheap. So she mused on in the closing darkness, over the fire-light, & it was 8 o’clock when she rang for her maid, who came in with the lamps & a bottle of cough-syrup for my lady. Georgie rose wearily from her seat, drawing a soft shawl close about her shoulders; &, as the maid stood waiting for orders, said between her painful coughing: “I shall dress for the ball now, Sidenham.” “But, my lady,” the woman answered, “you have had no dinner.” “No, I did not want any, thanks. It is time to dress.” “But—my lady,” persisted the maid, “your cough is so bad…indeed, my lady…” Georgie interrupted her with an impatient movement. “My white dress, Sidenham. Have the flowers come home?” “Yes, my lady.” And the process of the toilette began. Sidenham had a real attachment for her mistress, but she knew that my lady could brook no questioning of her will, & being a good servant, went about her duty obediently. Lord Breton had dined out that evening, but at about 9.30, as Sidenham was putting the last touches to Georgie’s hair, he knocked unexpectedly at the dressing-room door, & then came in, in his evening dress. “I hoped you were in bed by—good Heavens!” he exclaimed, as Georgie rose in her glistening satin. “You don’t mean to say that you are going out tonight?” Sidenham, shaking out my lady’s train, looked volumes of sympathy at my lord. “Oh, certainly,” returned Georgie, unconcernedly. “It is the Duchess of Westmoreland’s ball tonight, you know.” “But this is madness—madness. Your cough was much worse today—such exposure at night would be extremely dangerous.” Georgie was clasping her diamonds, with her back turned towards him, & merely shrugged her white shoulders slightly. “Let me dissuade you,” Lord Breton continued, with real anxiety. “Surely it is little to forfeit one ball—the last of the season—for one’s health’s sake. Your physician would certainly not advise such imprudence, such absolute risk.” “Very likely,” said Georgie, nonchalantly, “but—‘when the cat’s away the mice will play,’ you know.” “I know that going out tonight would be folly on your part; let me beg you to desist from it.” “My white fan, Sidenham. I presume,” said Georgie, turning to face her husband as she spoke, “that I shall have your escort?” “I am going to the ball.” “And yet” she continued lightly, “you wish to exile me from it? I should die of ennui in half an hour alone here!” “Then—then, may I offer you my company?” he said, eagerly, taking the cloak from Sidenham’s hands. “Let us give up the ball, Georgina.” Georgie was really moved; such a demonstration was so unusual on Lord Breton’s part, that it could not fail to touch her. But it was not her rôle to shew this. “No indeed!” she replied, clasping her bracelet, & coming closer to him. “Why should either of us be sacrificed? Instead of suicide for one, it would be—murder for both! Please put my cloak on.” “You go then?” said Lord Breton, coldly, with a gathering frown. “Oh, yes.