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MY WONDERFUL WIFE.

CHAPTER I.

SHE was really a wonderful woman!—I always said so! She captivated me with a smile; she subjugated my frail and trembling soul with a glance. She took such utter possession of me from the very moment I set eyes on her that I had no longer any will of my own; in fact, to this day I don't know how I came to marry her. I have a hazy idea that she married me. I think it is very likely, knowing, as I know now, what a powerful, sweeping-away-of-all-obstacles sort of intellect she has. But when I first saw her she was a glorious girl! One of those "fine" girls, don't you know?-with plump shoulders, round arms, ample bosom, full cheeks, good teeth and quantities of hair-a girl with "go," and "pluck," and plenty of "style;" just the kind of creature for a small, mild, rather nervous man like me. She had just come back from the Highlands, where she had "brought down" a superb stag with a single unerring shot from her gun; and all the blowsy glow of

the Scotch breeze was about her, and all the scent of the gorse and heather seemed to come out in whiffs from her cropped and frizzy "fringe." She talked-ye gods! how amazingly she talked-she laughed, till the superabundant excess of her immense vitality made me positively envious! She danced with the vigour and swing of a stalwart Amazon-danced till my brain swung round and round in wild gyrations to the delirious excitement of her ceaseless twirl. For she never tired, never felt faint, never got giddy-not she! She was in sound health, mark you; sound and splendid physical condition, and had appetite enough for two ordinary men of middle size; moreover, she ate a mixture of things that no ordinary man could possibly eat without future spasms. I watched her that night we met (we were at one of those "at homes" with a small "dancing" in the corner of the card which help to make up the melancholy pleasures of London social life)

-I watched her, I say, in breathless surprise and admiration, as between every couple of dances she ate three ices and a plateful of lobster-salad,-I stared at her in unfeigned ecstacy and awe when at supper she made such short work of the mayonnaise, the salmon and cucumber, the veal and ham pie, the cream puffs, the red jelly, the cheese and sardines, the champagne and tipsy-cake, and then more ice-cream! I hastened to provide her with two cups of coffee, one after the other,

and a thrill of wonder and delight ran through me when, in reply to my interested query, "Does not coffee keep you awake at night?" she gave a loud and cheerful laugh at my simplicity and replied:

"Me? Why, I sleep like a top, and wake as fresh as a daisy."

Fresh as a daisy! How suggestively beautiful! I believed her thoroughly. Such a physique as she had, such a clear skin, such a bright, full, almost wild eye! Health radiated from her; her very aspect was invigorating as well as commanding, and I was completely overpowered and taken captive by her superb masterfulness and self-assertion. She was so utterly unlike the women in Walter Scott's novels, you know-the women our great-grandfathers used to admire-those gentle, dignified, retiring, blushing personages, who always wanted men to fight for them and protect them— poor wretched weaklings they were, to be sure! Of course, all that sort of thing was very pretty and made a man think himself of some consequence and use in the world; but it was great nonsense when you come to consider it. Why should men be at the bother of looking after women? They can look after themselves, and pretty sharply too; they have proved it over and over again. And as to business, they beat a man hollow in their keen aptitude for money transactions!

Well, as I was saying, this splendid girl, Honoria

Maggs-that was her name-bowled me over completely "knocked me into a cocked hat," as I heard the Duke of Havilands remark the other day at a racemeeting, and as he is a royal and exalted individual I suppose it is the most aristocratic expression in vogue. One must always strive to imitate one's betters; and he is unquestionably my better by several thousands of pounds, for nowadays, as we are all aware, we only rank superiority in mind by superfluity of cash. I recognized in this same Honoria Maggs, my fate, from whom there was no escaping; I followed her from "at home" to "at home," from ball to ball, from concert to concert, from race-course to race-course, with an unflagging pertinacity that bordered on mania-a pertinacity which surprised everybody, myself included. don't know why I did it, I'm sure. If it will gratify the "spiritualists," I am quite willing to set it down to "astral influence." On the other hand, if it will oblige the celebrated Dr. Charcot, of Paris, I am ready to believe it was hypnotism. She "drew" me--yes, that is the correct term. Honoria Maggs "drew" me on, and I allowed myself to be "drawn," regardless of future consequences. At last things came to the usual crisis. I proposed. I made a full and frank statement of the extent of my financial resources, carefully explained how much I had to my credit in the bank, and how much was invested in Consols, all with an agreeably

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