Mr.
Warwick, two railway Directors, bent upon scoring the country to the
likeness of a child's lines of hop-scotch in a gravel-yard.

As with all invalids, the pleasure of living backward was haunted by the
tortures it evoked, and two years later she recalled this outcry against
the Fates. She would then have prayed for Diana to inflame none but such
men as those two. The original error was; of course, that rash and most
inexplicable marriage, a step never alluded to by the driven victim of
it. Lady Dunstane heard rumours of dissensions. Diana did not mention
them. She spoke of her husband as unlucky in railway ventures, and of a
household necessity for money, nothing further. One day she wrote of a
Government appointment her husband had received, ending the letter: 'So
there is the end of our troubles.' Her friend rejoiced, and afterward
looking back at her satisfaction, saw the dire beginning of them.

Lord Dannisburgh's name, as one of the admirers of Mrs. Warwick, was
dropped once or twice by Sir Lukin. He had dined with the Warwicks, and
met the eminent member of the Cabinet at their table. There is no harm
in admiration, especially on the part of one of a crowd observing a
star. No harm can be imputed when the husband of a beautiful woman
accepts an appointment from the potent Minister admiring her. So Lady
Dunstane thought, for she was sure of Diana to her inmost soul. But she
soon perceived in Sir Lukin that the old Dog-world was preparing to yelp
on a scent. He of his nature belonged to the hunting pack, and with a
cordial feeling for the quarry, he was quite with his world in expecting
to see her run, and readiness to join the chase. No great scandal had
occurred for several months. The world was in want of it; and he, too,
with a very cordial feeling for the quarry, piously hoping she would
escape, already had his nose to ground, collecting testimony in the
track of her. He said little to his wife, but his world was getting so
noisy that he could not help half pursing his lips, as with the soft
whistle of an innuendo at the heels of it. Redworth was in America,
engaged in carving up that hemisphere. She had no source of information
but her husband's chance gossip; and London was death to her; and Diana,
writing faithfully twice a week, kept silence as to Lord Dannisburgh,
except in naming him among her guests. She wrote this, which might have
a secret personal signification: 'We women are the verbs passive of