a very thoughtless nature; but his heart is
excellent; he is the soul of generosity. I shall write to him myself.
You cannot think how you have pained me by this communication."

"Indeed, madam, I had hoped to have pleased you," said I, for I raged to
see her still thinking of the Master.

"And pleased," said she, "and pleased me of course."

That same day (I will not say but what I watched) I had the satisfaction
to see Mr. Henry come from his wife's room in a state most unlike
himself; for his face was all bloated with weeping, and yet he seemed to
me to walk upon the air. By this, I was sure his wife had made him full
amends for once. "Ah," thought I to myself, "I have done a brave stroke
this day."

On the morrow, as I was seated at my books, Mr. Henry came in softly
behind me, took me by the shoulders and shook me in a manner of
playfulness. "I find you are a faithless fellow after all," says he,
which was his only reference to my part; but the tone he spoke in was
more to me than any eloquence of protestation. Nor was this all I had
effected; for when the next messenger came (as he did, not long
afterwards) from the Master, he got nothing away with him but a letter.
For some while back it had been I myself who had conducted these
affairs; Mr. Henry not setting pen to paper, and I only in the driest
and most formal terms. But this letter I did not even see; it would
scarce be pleasant reading, for Mr. Henry felt he had his wife behind
him for once, and I observed, on the day it was despatched, he had a
very gratified expression.

Things went better now in the family, though it could scarce be
pretended they went well. There was now at least no misconception; there
was kindness upon all sides; and I believe my patron and his wife might
again have drawn together if he could but have pocketed his pride, and
she forgot (what was the ground of all) her brooding on another man. It
is wonderful how a private thought leaks out; it is wonderful to me now
how we should all have followed the current of her sentiments; and
though she bore herself quietly, and had a very even disposition, yet we
should have known whenever her fancy ran to Paris. And would not any one
have thought that my disclosure must have rooted up that idol? I think
there is the devil in women: all these years passed, never a sight of
the man, little enough kindness to remember (by all accounts) even while
she had him, the notion of his death interven