“But he couldn’t be jealous of me,” said George, with eager surprise. “You can’t bury yourself alive for the sake of a man who is deceiving you, who writes to say he is getting on badly”--Annie had told him that, but without saying anything about the money she had sent--“and whom you see a week after on horseback on a race-course enjoying himself as if he were rich. It isn’t as if I were one of your handsome actors----” “You are too modest, George. You are handsomer than any actor I know.” “Handsomer than----” “Oh, yes; he is quite ugly! That was the hardest blow of all to Harry,” said she, laughing. “But, handsome or ugly, Harry shall never have the least reason to be jealous again.” “Are you so sure of yourself?” asked George softly. “You know,” he continued diffidently, “you thought you were quite cold and safe before.” “I have a safeguard now,” said she in a low voice. “In spite of all that he has done--and you have not heard the worst--I love Harry; his forbearance to me when I was in the wrong seems to have subdued me; and nothing in this world now, not even brilliant success on the stage, has so much charm for me as the hope of some day winning him back to me.” “I hope you will, Annie--I hope you will. You deserve the greatest happiness the world can give, and Harry would be a fool not to snatch at what many a man will envy him for.” Annie did not want him to grow sentimental, and she soon turned the conversation to other matters. She had a firm friend now in her eldest brother-in-law, whom she knew how to manage, and to whom, in this time of his ruin and consequent troubles, she did infinite service by her sympathy and encouragement. She could not, even if she had wished to do so, prevent his coming to see her constantly; for, though a man accustomed to depend upon himself in a struggle, he could find no consolation, now that the struggle was over, so great as his sister-in-law’s sweet voice and kind eyes. She had dropped much out of her circle of acquaintances since the blow she had received at Ascot; life had lost some of its zest for her, and she had grown restlessly anxious for news of her husband. She received letters from him now and then, short, affectionate, ill-spelled, but vague, requesting her to send her answers under cover to Stephen at a club he mentioned. She wrote answers in which, as he never mentioned his prospects or hers, or the money she had sent him, she never referred to them either. She also wrote to Stephen himself at the address given, begging him to come and see her; but to this she got no answer, until one afternoon she met him in the Strand and insisted on his returning home with her. He was looking as haggard as ever, and seemed more uneasy in her presence than he had been before.