The season was nearly over now, and night after night she scanned the audience anxiously in the hope of seeing those two faces she knew; but it was not until the very last night of all that, as she came on to the stage, she saw a tall young man in the stalls half rise from his seat, with the exclamation, just loud enough for her to hear--“Annie!” At the end of the street William met her, and could hardly be restrained from embracing her, regardless of appearances. He was broader, manlier in figure; but in his manner to her he was exactly the same as before. She was thankful to see that he did not look dissipated, and he hastened to assure her that he had observed all her commands, that he read a great deal and “quite liked it.” He had not lived much at Elms, having passed most of his time with his uncle, his mother’s brother, in Ireland. “And, Annie, I’m not going to lead an idle life. I’m going to be a soldier.” “Well, that is the next thing to it.” “No disrespect to the army, I beg, madam. It is very hard work to get in at all nowadays. No Braithwaite ever had to study so much before as I shall have to do to pass the exams. I’m sure to be ‘plucked’ the first time, of course, and very likely the second. I must get through the third time, you know, or else it will be all up with me.” “You must get through the first time,” said Annie indignantly. “If you don’t, I will never speak to you again.” “Oh, yes, you will. If I don’t pass, you will have to console me, and, if I do pass, you will congratulate me. Oh, Annie, I wish I had been old enough to marry you, or that you had married George, so that you might come back to the Elms again.” No suggestion that she should go back to Harry, however. Annie looked up at him quickly. “How is Harry? He is not anxious for my return, I suppose?” “Oh, to think of your being his wife is intolerable! He is not worthy to look at you. Sometimes he is sorry, in a maudlin sort of way, that he can’t see you, and complains that you have deserted him, and that you are the only woman he ever cared about. But that is all nonsense, and he says it only when he is drunk. He drinks worse than Wilfred. And a few months ago----Well, never mind that! You mustn’t trouble your head any more about him.” Annie listened in silence, her heart aching with remorse. She knew well enough now that she had done irretrievable wrong in leaving her husband, whom at least she could, at the entire sacrifice of herself, have kept from this. But it was too late now, she told herself. If she returned to him now unbidden, with the feeling of repulsion toward him a thousand-fold stronger than ever, she could not expect a welcome, she could not even repress the disgust she felt.