resolved--and without much difficulty, too, hitherto--to be
dry-eyed for the rest of the evening. What does it matter what color my
eyelids are? what size my nose is? or how beblubbered my cheeks? Not a
soul will see them, except my maid, and I am naturally indifferent as to
the effect I produce upon her. I look at the clock on the mantel-piece.
It has stopped--ornamental clocks mostly do--but even this trivial
circumstance adds to my affliction. I instantly take out my
pocket-handkerchief, and begin to cry again. Then I look at my watch; a
quarter-past seven only--and my watch always gains! Two hours and
three-quarters before I can, with the smallest semblance of decency, go
to bed. Meanwhile I am hungry. Though my husband has deserted me, though
my brother and sister have failed me, my appetite has done neither.

Faithful friend! never yet was it known to quit me, and here it is! I
decide to have _tea_ in my own boudoir. Tea is informal, and one need
not be waited on at it. When it comes, I try to dawdle over it as much
as possible, to sip my tea with labored slowness, and bite each mouthful
with conscientious care. When I have finished, I think with satisfaction
that I cannot have occupied less than half an hour. Again I consult my
watch. Exactly twelve minutes. It is now five minutes to eight; two
hours and five minutes more! I sigh loudly, and putting on my hat stroll
out into the wide and silent garden. It is as yet unfamiliar to me.
I do not know where half the walks lead. I have no favorite haunts,
no chosen spot of solitude and greenery, where old and pleasant
thoughts meet me. Many such have I at home, but none here. I wander
objectlessly, pleasurelessly about with Vick--apparently sharing my
depression--trotting subduedly, with tail half-mast high, at my heels,
and at length sit down on a bench under a mulberry-tree. The scentless
flame of the geraniums and calceolarias fills, without satisfying my
eyes; the gnats' officious hum offends my ears; and thoughts in
comparison of which the calceolarias are sweet and the gnats melodious,
occupy my mind.

Sir Roger will most likely be drowned on his voyage out. Bobby will
almost certainly be sent to Hong-Kong, and, as a natural consequence,
die of a putrid fever. Algy has just entered the army; there can be no
two opinions as to our going to war immediately with either Russia or
America. Algy will probably be among the first to fall, and will die,
grasping his colo