chief talk for several weeks past of the literary circles to which I
belong, is a young lady who was a widow before she reached the age of
eighteen, and is now not far beyond her fourth lustrum. I was
additionally informed by a friend whom I met yesterday on his way to the
House of Lords, that her name is Mrs. Petherwin--Christian name
Ethelberta; and that she resides with her mother-in-law at their house in
Exonbury Crescent. She is, moreover, the daughter of the late Bishop of
Silchester (if report may be believed), whose active benevolence, as your
readers know, left his family in comparatively straitened circumstances
at his death. The marriage was a secret one, and much against the wish
of her husband's friends, who are wealthy people on all sides. The death
of the bridegroom two or three weeks after the wedding led to a
reconciliation; and the young poetess was taken to the home which she
still occupies, devoted to the composition of such brilliant effusions as
those the world has lately been favoured with from her pen."'

'If you want to send her your music, you can do so now,' said Faith.

'I might have sent it before, but I wanted to deliver it personally.
However, it is all the same now, I suppose, whether I send it or not. I
always knew that our destinies would lie apart, though she was once
temporarily under a cloud. Her momentary inspiration to write that
"Cancelled Words" was the worst possible omen for me. It showed that,
thinking me no longer useful as a practical chance, she would make me
ornamental as a poetical regret. But I'll send the manuscript of the
song.'

'In the way of business, as a composer only; and you must say to
yourself, "Ethelberta, as thou art but woman, I dare; but as widow I fear
thee."'