He had not seen her since he had walked round the park, in his misery,
after parting with her in the garden. How much had happened since then!
She had been married in her glory, had become a countess, and then a
widow, and was now returning with a tarnished name, almost repudiated by
those who had been her dearest friends; but with rank and fortune at her
command--and again a free woman. He could not but think what might have
been his chance were it not for Florence Burton! But much had happened
to him also. He had almost perished in his misery--so he told
himself--but had once more "tricked his beams"--that was his expression
to himself--and was now "flaming in the forehead" of a glorious love.
And even if there had been no such love, would a widowed countess with a
damaged name have suited his ambition, simply because she had the rich
dower of the poor wretch to whom she had sold herself? No, indeed. There
could be no question of renewed vows between them now; there could have
been no such question even had there been no "glorious love," which had
accrued to him almost as his normal privilege, in right of his pupilage
in Mr. Burton's office. No; there could be, there could have been,
nothing now between him and the widowed Countess of Ongar. But,
nevertheless, he liked the idea of meeting her in London. He felt some
triumph in the thought that he should be the first to touch her hand on
her return after all that she had suffered. He would be very courteous
to her, and would spare no trouble that would give her any ease. As for
her rooms, he would see to everything of which he could think that might
add to her comfort; and a wish crept upon him, uninvited, that she might
be conscious of what he had done for her.

Would she be aware, he wondered, that he was engaged? Lady Clavering had
known it for the last three months, and would probably have mentioned
the circumstance in a letter. But perhaps not. The sisters, he knew, had
not been good correspondents; and he almost wished that she might not