IVINING
WOMAN LEARN TO RESPECT ONE ANOTHER

'You see, you are my crutch,' Lady Dunstane said to him,--raising the
stick in reminder of the present.

He offered his arm and hurriedly informed her, to dispose of dull
personal matter, that he had just landed. She looked at the clock.
'Lukin is in town. You know the song: "Alas, I scarce can go or creep
While Lukin is away." I do not doubt you have succeeded in your business
over there. Ah! Now I suppose you have confidence in your success. I
should have predicted it, had you come to me.' She stood, either musing
or in weakness, and said abruptly: 'Will you object to lunching at one
o'clock?'

'The sooner the better,' said Redworth. She had sighed: her voice
betrayed some agitation, strange in so serenely-minded a person.

His partial acquaintance with the Herculean Sir Lukin's reputation in
town inspired a fear of his being about to receive admission to the
distressful confidences of the wife, and he asked if Mrs. Warwick was
well. The answer sounded ominous, with its accompaniment of evident
pain: 'I think her health is good.'

Had they quarrelled? He said he had not heard a word of Mrs. Warwick for
several months.

'I--heard from her this morning,' said Lady Dunstane, and motioned him
to a chair beside the sofa, where she half reclined, closing her eyes.
The sight of tears on the eyelashes frightened him. She roused herself
to look at the clock. 'Providence or accident, you are here,' she said.
'I could not have prayed for the coming of a truer' man. Mrs. Warwick is
in great danger.... You know our love. She is the best of me, heart
and soul. Her husband has chosen to act on vile suspicions--baseless,
I could hold my hand in the fire and swear. She has enemies, or the
jealous fury is on the man--I know little of him. He has commenced an
action against her. He will rue it. But she... you understand this of
women at least;--they are not cowards in all things!--but the horror
of facing a public scandal: my poor girl writes of the hatefulness of
having to act the complacent--put on her accustomed self! She would have
to go about, a mark for the talkers, and behave as if nothing were in
the air-full of darts! Oh, that general whisper!--it makes a coup de
massue--a gale to sink the bravest vessel: and a woman must preserve
her smoothest front; chat, smile--or else!--Well, she shrinks from it. I
should too. She is leaving the country.'

'Wrong!' cried Redworth.

'Wro