in as bad case up there--thanks to
those men! My husband has lost his "golden Riette." When you see beneath
the bandage! He will have the right to put me away. His "beauty of
beauties"! I'm fit only to dress as a page-boy and run at his heels. My
hero! my poor dear! He thinking I cared for nothing but amusement,
flattery. Was ever a punishment so cruel to the noblest of generous
husbands! Because I know he will overlook it, make light of it, never
reproach his Riette. And the rose he married comes to him a shrivelled
leaf of a potpourri heap. You haven't seen me yet. I was their "beautiful
woman." I feel for my husband most.'

She took breath. Carinthia pressed her lips on the cheek sensible to a
hiss, and Henrietta pursued, in words liker to sobs: 'Anywhere, Cadiz,
St. Jean de Luz, hospital work either, anywhere my husband likes,
anything! I want to work, or I'll sit and rock the children. I'm awake at
last. Janey, we're lambs to vultures with those men. I don't pretend I
was the perfect fool. I thought myself so safe. I let one of them squeeze
my hand one day, he swears. You know what a passion is; you have it for
mountains and battles, I for music. I do remember, one morning before
sunrise, driving back to town out of Windsor,--a dance, the officers of
the Guards,--and my lord's trumpeter at the back of the coach blowing
notes to melt a stone, I found a man's hand had mine. I remember Lord
Fleetwood looking over his shoulder and smiling hard and lashing his
horses. But listen--yes, at Calesford it happened. He--oh, hear the name,
then; Chillon must never hear it;--Lord Brailstone was denied the right
to step on Lord Fleetwood's grounds. The Opera company had finished
selections from my Pirata. I went out for cool air; little Sir Meeson
beside me. I had a folded gauze veil over my head, tied at the chin in a
bow. Some one ran up to me--Lord Brailstone. He poured forth their
poetry. They suppose it the wine for their "beautiful woman." I dare say
I laughed or told him to go, and he began a tirade against Lord
Fleetwood. There's no mighty difference between one beast of prey and
another. Let me get away from them all! Though now! they would not lift
an eyelid. This is my husband's treasure returning to him. We have to be
burnt to come to our senses. Janey--oh! you do well!--it was fiendish;
old ballads, melodrama plays, I see they were built on men's deeds.
Janey, I could not believe it, I have to believe, it is forced