CHAPTER VIII.

THE cynical philosopher and the self-sufficient epicurean may now perhaps feel disposed to congratulate me on having easily and conveniently got rid of my wife; the modern Diogenes of the literary clubs may growl "Lucky man!" and the nineteenth-century Solomon of Hyde Park and Piccadilly may murmur over these pages: "There is nothing, under the circumstances, better for a fellow to do than to eat, drink and be merry all the days of his life, for whatever cometh not of these is vanity!" But, truth to tell, I was not in an enviable condition at all. The resumption of a solitary existence in chambers was far from agreeable to me; for I had passed the age when going to the theatre seemed the chief glory of life, and I had not yet arrived at that matured paunchiness when to dine well and drink good wine till the nose becomes rosy and lustrous, is the acme of every sensible man's ambition. So that I was very lonely, and very conscious of my loneliness. The gaunt, pious and respectable female who attended to my rooms was not exactly the sort of person one would choose to provide a drooping spirit with mental cheer; the hall porter at my club-an exceedingly

friendly fellow-seemed sorry for me now and then, but refrained from inviting me to weep out my woes upon his brass-buttoned breast. True, I visited my motherin-law's house frequently-saw the fair little Georgie and her betrothed earl, and looked on mournfully at their demurely graceful love-making; and I danced my infant son on my knee to Banbury Cross and back again with much satisfaction, finding that every time I did it his soft chuckles became more and more confidential, and that though at present his language was unintelligible, he evidently meant it kindly. Still I had the feeling upon me of being a desolate and deserted man, and though I absorbed myself as much as possible in books and made the best of my position, I could not deem myself happy. Life, which I had fancied rounded into completion when I married, seemed now broken off in some strange and uncouth way-it was like one of those odd-looking roses that through blight or disease bloom half-petalled, and never get shaped into the perfect flower.

Honoria had been a long time absent in the provinces; fully five months had passed since our parting, and the February of the new year was now just at an end. I had never heard from her all that time, neither had she written to any member of her own family. Her allowance had been paid to her regularly through her bankers, and so far as I knew she was well and flourish

ing. Now and again I heard far-off rumours of Mrs. Tribkin's ability as a lecturer, but I rather avoided all those newspapers in which her doings were likely to be mentioned. I shrank from the pennyworths of scandal, called by courtesy journals, lest I should find her name figuring ridiculously in a set of vulgarly worded paragraphs, such as are sometimes strung together for the sake of gratuitously insulting our good and noble Queen in her old age (I wonder what British officers are about, by-the-by, that they let this sort of thing go on without. a single soldierly and manful protest?), and thus it happened that to me it was almost as if my wife were dead, or at any rate gone on some exceedingly far journey from which it seemed highly probable she would never return. So that I received a positive shock of surprise one afternoon when, on arriving at my club, I found a letter addressed to me in the big bold handwriting which was like nobody's in the world, so thoroughly characteristic was it of Honoria, and of Honoria alone. I opened it with a sort of eager trepidation. Was she regretting the step she had taken, and was this to propose a friendly meeting with a view to partnership in joy and sorrow once more? A thick card dropped out of the envelope;-I picked it up without looking at it; my eyes were fixed on the letter itself-my wife's letter to me-which ran as follows:

"DEAR WILLIE,—

"I've done the provinces, and am coming to London to give a lecture in Prince's Hall, Piccadilly. As you've never heard me hold forth, I enclose a TicketFive Shilling Fauteuil--so I hope you'll be comfortable! It's a good seat, where you'll have a straight view of me any way. How are you? First-class, I hope. I never was better in my life. Am leaving for the States. in the middle of March, they're 'booming' me there now. I'm beating all the 'Whistling Ladies' hollow! Would you like to dine with me at the Grosvenor before I start? If so, come behind the platform after the lecture and let me know.

"Yours ever,

"HONORIA HATWELL-TRIBKIN."

Dine with her at the Grosvenor!

She seemed to

entirely forget that I was her husband-her separated, deserted husband! It was the letter of a man to a man, yet she was my wife-parted from me—but still my wife. Dine with her at the Grosvenor! Nevernever! I put the letter back in its envelope with trembling fingers, and then looked at the ticket-the "Five Shilling Fauteuil." Good heavens! I thought I should have tumbled in a swooning heap on the carpet, so great was my astonishment and dismay! This is what I read:

PRINCE'S HALL, PICCADILLY.

LECTURE

BY

MRS, HONORIA HATWELL-TRIBKIN. Subject: "ON THE ADVISABILITY OF MEN'S APPAREL FOR WOMEN."

HEADINGS: 1. The inconvenience of women's dress generally.

2. The superior comfort enjoyed by men.

3. Cheapness, quality, and durability of men's clothing.

4. The advantages of Social Uniformity.

N.B.-The Lecturer will give from time to time Practical Illustrations of her theory.

TO COMMENCE AT 8 P.M. PRECISELY.

FAUTEUIL, 5s.

ADMIT ONE.

Men's apparel for women! Social uniformity! Practical illustrations of the theory! Ye gods! I gasped for breath, and staggered to an arm-chair, wherein I sank exhausted by the excess of my wonder! The idea of the "practical illustrations" was what worried me. I tried to imagine their nature, but failed in the effort. I could not conceive any "practical illustrations" on such a subject possible-in public! Would she have an assorted pile of men's garments on a table beside her, and taking them up one by one, point out their various attractions? Would she discourse eloquently on the simplicity of the shirt; the rapid sliding-on of the trousers; the easy charm of the waistcoat, and the graceful gaiety of the "monkey-jacket?"