ive the best society in England, and open her
husband's way to a position in the world."

"A position in the world!" cried Mr. Kendrew. "Here is a man whose
father has left him half a million of money--with the one condition
annexed to it of taking his father's place at the head of one of the
greatest mercantile houses in England. And he talks about a position,
as if he was a junior clerk in his own office! What on earth does your
ambition see, beyond what your ambition has already got?"

Mr. Vanborough finished his glass of wine, and looked his friend
steadily in the face.

"My ambition," he said, "sees a Parliamentary career, with a Peerage at
the end of it--and with no obstacle in the way but my estimable wife."

Mr. Kendrew lifted his hand warningly. "Don't talk in that way,"
he said. "If you're joking--it's a joke I don't see. If you're in
earnest--you force a suspicion on me which I would rather not feel. Let
us change the subject."

"No! Let us have it out at once. What do you suspect?"

"I suspect you are getting tired of your wife."

"She is forty-two, and I am thirty-five; and I have been married to her
for thirteen years. You know all that--and you only suspect I am tired
of her. Bless your innocence! Have you any thing more to say?"

"If you force me to it, I take the freedom of an old friend, and I say
you are not treating her fairly. It's nearly two years since you broke
up your establishment abroad, and came to England on your father's
death. With the exception of myself, and one or two other friends of
former days, you have presented your wife to nobody. Your new position
has smoothed the way for you into the best society. You never take your
wife with you. You go out as if you were a single man. I have reason to
know that you are actually believed to be a single man, among these
new acquaintances of yours, in more than one quarter. Forgive me for
speaking my mind bluntly--I say what I think. It's unworthy of you to
keep your wife buried here, as if you were ashamed of her."

"I _am_ ashamed of her."

"Vanborough!"

"Wait a little! you are not to have it all your own way, my good fellow.
What are the facts? Thirteen years ago I fell in love with a handsome
public singer, and married her. My father was angry with me; and I had
to go and live with her abroad. It didn't matter, abroad. My father
forgave me on his death-bed, and I had to bring her home again. It does
matter, at home. I find myse