In the meantime, the country-dance being ended, Lord Alfred had offered his arm to his partner, and proposed a stroll through the rooms--a proposition to which Alice, who, in her present state of feeling, was anxious to do anything rather than hasten the inevitable _tête à tête_ with her husband, consented. As they passed a group who were gathered round a clever copy from one of the great works of some old master, D’Almayne approached Lord Alfred, and, making some light remark to screen his real object, found an opportunity to whisper to his pupil-- “Take her to the door of the boudoir, and detain her there to look at the pictures in the anteroom for a minute; there is a _tableau vivant_ inside the apartment which will interest her deeply!” Partially guessing his meaning, Lord Alfred executed the task with so much tact and skill, that all this by-play was completely unnoticed by Alice, and when they reached the door of the boudoir, which stood ajar, she stopped to examine a picture, in perfect unconsciousness of any plot or contrivance; as she did so, the following sentence, spoken in tones of deep emotion, fell upon her ear:-- “_Love that I cannot return is lavished and wasted on me, and the only affection I pine for, I have alienated by my own rash and inconsiderate conduct!_” The sound of the voice was all that Alice required to enable her to decide that the speaker was her husband: and a hurried glance proved to her that his speech had been addressed to Arabella Crofton, her rival, as she had long suspected her to be--a fact in regard to which she now received the assurance of her own senses. Harry’s speech could bear but one interpretation: the “love wasted on him which he could never return,” was her own--his wife’s! the “affection he pined for, and had alienated by his rash and inconsiderate conduct,” was that of Arabella Crofton, the “rash conduct” he was so bitterly repenting--his marriage. Yes, she saw it all, and felt that for her there was no longer such a thing as happiness in this life. Now that she knew, that she had heard from his own lips, that he no longer loved her,--nay, that he had transferred his affection to another,--she felt how all important, how essential it had been to her--existence without Harry’s love to brighten it, would be like the universe without sunlight--cold, dark, desolate.