I

Since Colonel Denstroude proved a profane and dissolute and helpful person,
Lady Allonby was shortly re-established in her villa at Tunbridge Wells, on
the Sussex side, where she had resolved to find a breathing-space prior to
the full season in London. And thereupon she put all thoughts of Usk quite
out of her mind: it had been an unhappy business, but it was over. In the
meanwhile her wardrobe needed replenishing now that spring was coming
in; the company at the Wells was gay enough; and Lady Allonby had always
sedulously avoided anything that was disagreeable.

Mr. Erwyn Lady Allonby was far from cataloguing under that head. Mr. George
Erwyn had been for years a major-general, at the very least, in Fashion's
army, and was concededly a connoisseur of all the elegancies.

Mr. Erwyn sighed as he ended his recital--half for pity of the misguided
folk who had afforded Tunbridge its latest scandal, half for relief that,
in spite of many difficulties, the story had been set forth in discreet
language which veiled, without at all causing you to miss, the more
unsavory details.

"And so," said he, "poor Harry is run through the lungs, and Mrs.
Anstruther has recovered her shape and is to be allowed a separate
maintenance."

"'Tis shocking!" said Lady Allonby.

"'Tis incredible," said Mr. Erwyn, "to my mind, at least, that the bonds of
matrimony should be slipped thus lightly. But the age is somewhat lax and
the world now views with complaisance the mad antics of half-grown lads and