e conservatory I had often used it for watching
my wife,--not of course with any miserable design of playing the spy
upon, her,--but to observe her various moods, in order to adapt, my own
conduct and the progress of my system to them. One night, after we had
entertained a party of visitors, whom I had made instruments of torture
to my wife by their common-place eulogies of Frank's contributions, I
ascended my perch in the conservatory. She was sitting in her apartment,
her hands, listlessly clasped, resting on her knees, her form bowed with
the most profound dejection, coupled with that indescribable aspect of
cold, desperate defiance which I have previously noticed, exhibited in
her countenance and position. 'Oh! Frank, Frank!' she seemed to say,
'would that I had forsaken all and fled to Italy with you. There, the
creations of your taste and genius would have afforded a solace. Here
they are but torments.'

'You shall go to Italy, Evelyn, and have your fill of Frank's society,'
said I in my imaginary comment. 'But not yet; the time has not yet
come.'

Having permitted her to learn the disappointment derived from the works
of art associated with Frank's memory, I now brought into action a
scheme for teaching her the pleasure which I could afford. Before our
hunting expedition I had purchased a spacious and beautiful mansion, and
engaged upholsterers from New York to decorate it, during our absence,
in the most elegant style their taste could design. A large apartment
had been constructed by my order for the purpose of a private theatre.

I informed Evelyn of my plan, and conveyed her to our destined
residence. She was not at first much moved, but after we had entered on
possession, and she was thoroughly engaged in selecting an amateur
company from our acquaintances and arranging for our forthcoming
exhibitions, the old enthusiasm of her former profession revived, and
she appeared for the time transported back to the auspicious hours of
her young triumphs. 'The School for Scandal' was chosen for our first
performance--I of course taking the part of Sir Peter, and she that of
Lady Teazle. I did not allow my feelings once to transcend the part,
and in the conclusion looked completely the happy, good-natured,
self-satisfied, old husband. Heaven! had her protestations, where the
reconciliation occurred, been genuine, and not mere dramatic fiction!
The thought almost overpowered me. I could see the young bucks of the
ci