Indeed, from the beginning seeds of
distrust had been laid, and, buried in so young and unlearned a bosom,
had taken a fatal grip.

The more fatal in that there was truth in them. As a fact, Lord
Baltimore had been the hero of several ugly passages in his life. His
early life, certainly; but a young wife who has begun by thinking him
immaculate, would hardly be the one to lay stress upon _that_. And when
her friend, who had tried unsuccessfully to marry Lord Baltimore and had
failed, had in the kindliest spirit, _of course_, opened her eyes to his
misdoings, she had at first passionately refused to listen, then _had_
listened, and after that was ready to listen to anything.

One episode in his past history had been made much of. The sorry heroine
of it had been an actress. This was bad enough, but when the
disinterested friend went on to say that Lord Baltimore had been seen in
her company only so long ago as last week, matters came to a climax.
That was a long time ago from to-day, but the shock when it came
shattered all the sacred feelings in Lady Baltimore's heart. She grew
cold, callous, indifferent. Her mouth, a really beautiful feature, that
used to be a picture of serenity and charity personified, hardened. She
became austere, cold. Not difficult, so much as unsympathetic. She was
still a good hostess, and those who had known her _before_ her
misfortune still loved her. But she made no new friends, and she sat
down within herself, as it were, and gave herself up to her fate, and
would probably have died or grown reckless but for her little son.

And it was _after_ the birth of this beloved child that she had been
told that _her_ husband had again been seen in company with Madame
Istray; _that_ seemed to add fuel to the fire already kindled. She could
not forgive that. It was proof positive of his baseness.

To the young wife it was all a revelation, a horrible one. She had been
so stunned by it, that she, accepted it as it stood, and learning that
the stories of his life _before_ marriage were true, had decided that
the stories told of his life _after_ marriage were true also. She was
young, and youth is always hard.

To her no doubt remained of his infidelity. She had come of a brave old
stock, who, if they could not fight, could at least endure in silence,
and knew well the necessity of keeping her name out of the public mouth.
She kept herself well in hand, therefore, and betrayed nothing of all
she had