d then. It was she who encouraged
de Barral to accept the offer of a post in the west-end branch of a
great bank. It appears he shrank from such a great adventure for a long
time. At last his wife's arguments prevailed. Later on she used to
say: "It's the only time he ever listened to me; and I wonder now if it
hadn't been better for me to die before I ever made him go into that
bank."

You may be surprised at my knowledge of these details. Well, I had them
ultimately from Mrs Fyne. Mrs Fyne while yet Miss Anthony, in her
days of bondage, knew Mrs de Barral in her days of exile. Mrs de
Barral was living then in a big stone mansion with mullioned windows in
a large damp park, called the Priory, adjoining the village where the
refined poet had built himself a house.

These were the days of de Barral's success. He had bought the place
without ever seeing it and had packed off his wife and child at once
there to take possession. He did not know what to do with them in
London. He himself had a suite of rooms in an hotel. He gave there
dinner parties followed by cards in the evening. He had developed the
gambling passion--or else a mere card mania--but at any rate he played
heavily, for relaxation, with a lot of dubious hangers on.

Meantime Mrs de Barral, expecting him every day, lived at the Priory,
with a carriage and pair, a governess for the child and many servants.
The village people would see her through the railings wandering under
the trees with her little girl lost in her strange surroundings. Nobody
ever came near her. And there she died as some faithful and delicate
animals die--from neglect, absolutely from neglect, rather unexpectedly
and without any fuss. The village was sorry for her because, though
obviously worried about something, she was good to the poor and was
always ready for a chat with any of the humble folks. Of course they
knew that she wasn't a lady--not what you would call a real lady. And
even her acquaintance with Miss Anthony was only a cottage door, a
village-street acquaintance. Carleon Anthony was a tremendous
aristocrat (his father had been a "restoring" architect) and his
daughter was not allowed to associate with anyone but the county young
ladies. Nevertheless in defiance of the poet's wrathful concern for
undefiled refinement there were some quiet, melancholy strolls to and
fro in the great avenue of chestnuts leading to the park-gate, during
which Mrs de Barral ca