He dashed the notes proudly down. She turned her back on him, and glided into another room. When she returned, he was gone, and the hundred pounds had managed to accompany him. He went straight from her to Ashmead and talked big. He would sue for restitution of conjugal rights. “Don't do that, for my sake,” said Ashamed. “She will fly the country like a bird, and live in some village on bread and milk.” “Oh, I would not do you an ill turn for the world,” said the Master of Arts. “You have been a kind friend to me. You saved my life. It is imbittered by remorse, and recollections of the happiness I have thrown away, and the heart I have wronged. No matter!” This visit disturbed La Klosking, and disposed her to leave London. She listened to a brilliant offer that was made her, through Ashmead, by the manager of the Italian Opera, who was organizing a provincial tour. The tour was well advertised in advance, and the company opened to a grand house at Birmingham. Mademoiselle Klosking had not been long on the stage when she discovered her discarded husband in the stalls, looking the perfection of youthful beauty. The next minute she saw Vizard in a private box. Mr. Severne applauded her loudly, and flung her a bouquet. Mr. Vizard fixed his eyes on her, beaming with admiration, but made no public demonstration. The same incident repeated itself every night she sung, and at every town. At last she spoke about it to Ashmead, in the vague, suggestive way her sex excels in. “I presume you have observed the people in front.” “Yes, madam. Two in particular.” “Could you not advise him to desist?” “Which of 'em, madam?” “Mr. Vizard, of course. He is losing his time, and wasting sentiments it is cruel should be wasted.” Ashmead said he dared not take any liberty with Mr. Vizard. So the thing went on. Severne made acquaintance with the manager, and obtained the _entre'e_ behind the scenes. He brought his wife a bouquet every night, and presented it to her with such reverence and grace, that she was obliged to take it and courtesy, or seem rude to the people about. Then she wrote to Miss Gale and begged her to come if she could. Miss Gale, who had all this time been writing her love-letters twice a week, immediately appointed her mother viceroy, and went to her friend. Ina Klosking explained the situation to her with a certain slight timidity and confusion not usual to her; and said, “Now, dear, you have more courage than the rest of us; and I know he has a great respect for you; and, indeed, Miss Dover told me he would quite obey you. Would it not be the act of a friend to advise him to cease this unhappy--What good can come of it? He neglects his own duties, and disturbs me in mine. I sometimes ask myself would it not be kinder of me to give up my business, or practice it elsewhere--Germany, or even Italy. “Does he call on you?” “No.” “Does he write to you?”