to ask
for one short month of grace.

"I don't like to press you unfairly," Sir Henry had said, "but you
know how I am situated with regard to business."

"It shall be as you wish," Caroline had said. And so the day had been
settled; a day hardly more than six months distant from that on which
she had half permitted the last embrace from her now forfeited, but
not forgotten lover.

Duty was now her watchword to herself. For the last six weeks she had
been employed--nay, more than employed--hard at work--doing the best
she could for her future husband's happiness and welfare. She had
given orders with as much composure as a woman might do who had been
the mistress of her lord's purse and bosom for the last six years.
Tradesmen, conscious of the coming event, had had their little
delicacies and made their little hints. But she had thrown all
these to the wind. She had spoken of Sir Henry as Sir Henry, and
of herself as being now Miss Waddington, but soon about to be Lady
Harcourt, with a studied openness. She had looked to carriages and
broughams--and horses also under Sir Henry's protection--as though
these things were dear to her soul. But they were not dear, though in
her heart she tried to teach herself that they were so. For many a
long year--many at least in her still scanty list of years--she had
been telling herself that these things were dear; that these were the
prizes for which men strive and women too; that the wise and prudent
gained them; and that she too would be wise and prudent, that she too
would gain them. She had gained them; and before she had essayed to
enjoy them, they turned into dust before her eyes, into ashes between
her teeth.

Gilding and tinsel were no longer bright to her, silks and velvet
were no longer soft. The splendour of her drawing-room, the richness
of her draperies, the luxurious comfort of the chamber that was
prepared for her, gave her no delight. She acquiesced in these things
because her lord desired that they should be there, and she intended
that her lord should be among the rich ones of the earth. But not for
one moment did she feel even that trumpery joy which comes from an
elated spirit.

Her lord! there was the misery; there was the great rock against
which she feared that the timbers of her bark would go in pieces. If
she could only have the three first years done and over. If she could
only jump at once to that time in which habit would have made her
fate endura