“Yet I wish he had stayed till then,” she thought, regretfully. “He did not seem to have grown tired of being nice to me, and he was so very sweet while it lasted. I don’t think I was ever happier than I was last week, in spite of the fatigue and anxiety of rehearsals. I wonder where he is? I dare say I should be very much disgusted if I knew. After a week of no society but mine, I should think he must be pining for some grooms or coachmen to talk to. Very likely he is enjoying himself in some stable at this minute.” But she little thought how shrewd a guess she had made. In a wistful and restless state of mind she went back to the apartments in which her husband had found her. What few friends she had began to find her out in the course of the next few days, and to call upon her and insist upon her coming to see them and receive congratulations upon her success in “Nathalie.” This recognition of her talent was very pleasant; but it just missed being the supreme joy she had expected it to be; and, in searching for the reason of this slight disappointment, it occurred to her that there was one person who ought to have hastened forward with the rest of her acquaintance to offer her the natural matter-of-course homage of a few complimentary words upon the hit she had made in the new piece. This person was Aubrey Cooke. She had not seen him since that unlucky meeting with her husband; and, though, in the few bright busy days she had passed with Harry, she had had little time for unpleasant reflections of any kind, she had by no means forgotten the friend whose visits and amusing talk had been the one compensation for the dullness of her home-life in London before Harry’s inopportune appearance. Why did he not come to see her again, and give her an opportunity of explaining her silence concerning her marriage? He had let fall no word, since the day of her arrival in town, when she had laughed off his sentiment, to let her think that it mattered to him whether she was under any engagement or not. Was he irretrievably offended? If he felt wounded by her want of confidence, was it not her duty to seek him out herself and offer some apology, rather than lose a friend by proud silence?