t once. She sent for me, and I think she was right to do that."

"Glencora was alone when he came in?"

"For a minute or two,--till I could get to her."

"I have no questions to ask about it," said Mr Palliser, after
waiting for a few moments. He had probably thought that Alice would
say something further. "I am very glad that you were within reach of
her, as otherwise her position might have been painful. For her, and
for me perhaps, it may be as well that he has been here. As for him,
I can only say, that I am forced to suppose him to be a villain. What
a man does when driven by passion, I can forgive; but that he should
deliberately plan schemes to ruin both her and me, is what I can
hardly understand." As he made this little speech I wonder whether
his conscience said anything to him about Lady Dumbello, and a
certain evening in his own life, on which he had ventured to call
that lady, Griselda.

The little party of three dined together very quietly, and after
dinner they all went to work with their novels. Before long Alice saw
that Mr Palliser was yawning, and she began to understand how much
he had given up in order that his wife might be secure. It was then,
when he had left the room for a few minutes, in order that he might
wake himself by walking about the house, that Glencora told Alice of
his yawning down at Matching. "I used to think that he would fall in
pieces. What are we to do about it?"

"Don't seem to notice it," said Alice.

"That's all very well," said the other; "but he'll set us off yawning
as bad as himself, and then he'll notice it. He has given himself up
to politics, till nothing else has any salt in it left for him. I
cannot think why such a man as that wanted a wife at all."

"You are very hard upon him, Cora."

"I wish you were his wife, with all my heart. But, of course, I know
why he got married. And I ought to feel for him as he has been so
grievously disappointed." Then Mr Palliser having walked off his
sleep, returned to the room, and the remainder of the evening was
passed in absolute tranquillity.

Burgo Fitzgerald, when he left the house, turned back into Grosvenor
Square, not knowing, at first, whither he was going. He took himself
as far as his uncle's door, and then, having paused there for a
moment, hurried on. For half an hour, or thereabouts, something like
true feeling was at work within his heart. He had once more pressed
to his bosom the woman he had, at any rate