not bringing my husband? But I had done what I thought right; and if I had presumptuously acted on the dictates of human wisdom alone, I prayed, fervently prayed, that the divine wisdom would take pity on my weakness, and avert the courted and impending evil.

I was many miles on my journey before I could drive from my mind the recollection of my mother's countenance when we parted. It did not alone express sorrow to part with me: it indicated anxiety, foreboding of evil to happen before we met again; and it required all my husband's enlivening gaiety and fascinating powers to revive my drooping spirits. His gaiety, I must own, however, depressed rather than enlivened me at first; for I was mortified to see with what delight he anticipated our return to the great world: but, as I had no ill-tempered feelings to oppose to the influence of his buoyant hilarity and his winning charm of manner, they at length subdued my depression, and imparted to me their own pleasant cheerfulness.

"Dear, dear London!" cried Pendarves as our horses' hoofs first rattled on its pavement, "Dear London! how I love thee! for here I was first convinced how fondly Helen loved me!" So saying, he pressed me to his heart, and a feeling of revived confidence stole over mine.

We found my uncle and Mrs. Pendarves still in London; but I did not feel as rejoiced on the occasion as they and my husband did. The latter was glad because he had in them proper protectors for his wife, whenever he was obliged to leave me; and the former, because they had really an affection for us. But I knew so much of Mrs. Pendarves, by the description I had heard of her from Lady Helen and my mother, and what I had observed myself, that I dreaded being exposed to her home truths and her indiscreet communications.

It was not long before we found ourselves completely in the vortex of a London life. And as, for the most part, my husband's engagements and mine were the same, I lost the gloomy forebodings with which I left home, and even lost my fears of Mrs. Pendarves.

One day Pendarves told me he was going to dine with an old friend of his, Maurice Witred; but, as I was not going out, he hoped to be back to drink tea with me; but I expected him in vain, and he did not return till bed-time.

He told me he was sorry to have disappointed me; but his friend had prevailed on him to go to the play. This excuse was so sufficient, and his wish to accompany Mr. Witred so natural, that I should have had no misgiving whatever had I not observed a certain degree of constraint in his manner, and a consciousness as if he had not told me all. However, I was satisfied with the alleged cause of his absence, and I slept as soundly as usual. But the next morning came Mrs. Pendarves, saying she was glad to find me alone. She told me she had met my husband, and she had given him such a set to! (to use her own elegant phrase.)

"And wherefore?"

"Oh! for going to the play with Maurice Witred and his lady."

"Lady! I did not know he was married."

"He is not married; and it was very wrong, and had an ill-appearance for a young, married man to be seen in public, though it was in a private box, with a profligate man and his mistress. I thought he would not tell you; but I was resolved you should know it, that you might scold him with 'the grave rebuke of a severe youthful beauty and a grace.'"

I did not reply, even to assure her I was better pleased that she should scold my husband than that I should do it myself; for I knew she was incorrigible, and her communication had thrown me into a painful reverie; for I found that Pendarves had begun to practise disingenuousness and concealment with me, and in the most dangerous way; for he had concealed only half the truth; by which means persons make a sort of compromise with their integrity, and lay a salvo to their consciences; for they fancy they are not lying, though they are certainly deceiving; whereas, if they tell a downright lie, they, at least, know they are sinning, and may be led by conscious shame into amendment. But there is no hope for those who thus delude themselves; and as ce n'est que le prémier pas qui coute, I felt that I had lost some of my confidence in my husband's sincerity. Alas! when perfect confidence between man and wife is once destroyed, there is an end to perfect happiness! But I tried to shake off my abstraction; and I listened as well as I could to my talkative companion, whose passion was to give advice, that troublesome but common propensity in weak people; and like such persons, she was always boasting of the advice she had given, that which she would give, or of the dressings and set-tos which she had bestowed, or meant to bestow. At length, however, much to my relief she went away, and not long after Pendarves returned.

"So," said he, "I find Mrs. Pendarves has been with you, and suppose (blushing as he spoke) that she has been telling tales of me?"

"And of herself," I replied, smiling as unconcernedly as I could; "for she owns to the presumption of having given you a set-to, as she calls it."

"Yes: but I suppose she told you the cause?"

"No doubt."

"And do you think it deserved so severe a lecture?"

"I think it was not right in a respectable married man to seem to give his countenance to such a connexion as the one in question; and I suspect that you are of the same opinion."

"I am; but why do you think so?"

"From conceit; because I believe that fear of my censure made you conceal from me what you had done."

"True, most true—and my repugnance to tell you all proved to me still more how wrong that all was."

"My dearest Seymour," I replied, "believe me, that not all which you can communicate to me can ever distress me so much as my consciousness of your want of ingenuousness, and of your telling only half the truth can do. I saw by your manner something was wrong, and I shall ever bless the weak indiscretion of Mrs. Pendarves, because it led to this salutary explanation; and I trust that the next time you go with Mr. Witred and his lady to the play, you will mention both."

"But I shall never go with them again," eagerly replied my husband, "as you, Helen think it improper."

"But I may be too rigid in my ideas; and I beg you to be ruled by your own judgment, rather than mine. All I ask is, to be told the whole truth."

Pleasant to my feelings then, and dear to my recollection since, is the look of tenderness and approbation which Pendarves gave me as I spoke these words; and when he left me, peace and confidence seemed restored to my mind.

The next evening was the fashionable night for Ranelagh, and my husband and I, who dined out, were to accompany a large party to that scene of gay resort.

Ranelagh was the place for tall women to appear to advantage in. Little women, however beautiful, were likely to be unnoticed in that circling crowd; but, even unattended with beauty, height and a good carriage of the person were sure to be noticed there. The pride which Pendarves took in my appearance was never so fully gratified as at Ranelagh; for while I leaned upon him, I used to feel my arm pressed gently to his side as he heard or saw the admiration which my lofty stature (to speak modestly) excited. This evening as I was quite a new face in the splendid round, I was even followed as well as gazed at; and I was not sorry when our carriage was announced, though I was flattered on my own account, and pleased on my husband's; for I was eager to escape from some particularly impertinent starers, especially as I found that Pendarves was disposed to resent the freedom with which some men of high rank thought themselves privileged to follow and to look at me. Before we separated, some of the party proposed that we should meet again at Ranelagh on the next night but one, and while I hesitated, my husband exclaimed, "No mock modesty, Helen; no declining an opportunity, which you must enjoy, of being admired. So, pray tell