Emmeline now, nearly for the first time, heard herself called by her new name. Her husband, too, forced sometimes to designate and address her, called her “Lady Fitzhenry.” To hear oneself spoken to by a name so dear, that formerly one hardly dared pronounce it—to be thus reminded, each time, that we are indissolubly bound to that being we adore, is delightful. But in _her_ husband’s mouth it was to poor Emmeline an insult. It only seemed to cast her further from him, and remind her of the distant footing of mere form on which they lived, on which they were ever to live; for “Emmeline,” the name which when a child she had so often heard him pronounce, when she cared not for the endearing intimacy of the appellation, now never passed his lips. She now saw him but little, and never alone; for he never came into her own sitting-room, and seldom into the drawing-room, except at those hours, when he was certain of finding some of the rest of the party there also. She felt that since they had had society in the house, she had rather lost than gained ground with him, and she now regretted the week they had spent tête-à-tête, much as she had wished it over at the time, as _then_ they were _compelled_ to have some sort of intercourse together. Gradually, Emmeline’s abstraction increased, and her spirits changed; for, almost unconscious to herself, when in Fitzhenry’s society, her thoughts and attention were entirely occupied by him. The most flattering compliments that gallantry could suggest, had sometimes to be twice repeated to her, and were at last received with a vacant smile; for if she caught the distant tone of Fitzhenry’s voice, she heard nothing else; and if, during the day, he had more than usually spoken to her, or paid her some attention of mere civility, her spirits rose even beyond their natural level, and thus gave to her manner at times an appearance of caprice far from her nature. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER IV. “Unhappy Psyche! soon the latent wound The fading roses of her cheek confess, Her eyes bright beams in swimming sorrows drown’d, Sparkle no more with life and happiness, Her parents’ fond exulting heart to bless.” IT was now about six weeks since the fatal day on which Lord and Lady Fitzhenry were married. His feelings towards her, to all appearance, remained the same; but, with Emmeline, the happiness which depends on insensibility was gone.