the heart of the most fashionable quarter. Here she pondered for a
short time upon the doubtful unkindness of fate which had deprived her
of a husband whom she despised, and of a home which his presence had
made insupportable. But she soon roused herself to face her new lack
of responsibility, and to enjoy it. At first, she moved cautiously.
There were numerous sympathisers who urged her to defy the world, such
as it is, and to show herself everywhere entirely careless of what
people might say. Such conduct might possibly have been successful,
but the Divorcée foresaw a possible risk to her reputation, and
abstained. She began, therefore, by making her public appearances
infrequent. In company with the devoted widow, whose evidence
had almost saved her from an adverse verdict, she arranged placid
tea-parties at which the casual observer might have imagined that
the rules of social decorum were more strictly enforced than in the
household of an archbishop. Inquiry, however, might have revealed the
fact that a large proportion of the ladies present at these gatherings
had either shaken off the matrimonial shackles, or proposed to do
so, whether as plaintiffs or as defendants, whenever a favourable
opportunity presented itself. The men, too, who were, after a time,
admitted to these staid feasts, were not altogether archiepiscopal,
though they behaved as they were dressed, quite irreproachably. To
counter-balance them to some extent, the Divorcée determined to secure
the presence and the countenance of a clergyman.

After some search, she discovered one who was enthusiastic, deficient
in worldly knowledge, and susceptible. To him she related her own
private version of her wrongs, which she seasoned with quite a
pretty flow of tears. The amiable cleric yielded without a struggle,
and readily placed at her service the protection of his white
tie. Thus strengthened, she moved forward a little further. She