“Will you, Nancy? You are always a darling, always kinder than I deserve; but at least you will let me see it--send it with mine?” “No,” she said; “no, no, no; but I will write. Now, will that please you? And you will yield to me, like a dear good Arthur, and take me home. I do so wish to go home.” “That looks as if you were tired of me, Nancy.” “Does it?” she said with a smile, putting her arm softly about his neck. She was not addicted to caresses. There was a kind of rude delicacy and reserve in her, which a little more gentleness of manner would have made into that exquisite bloom of modesty which is the crown of all graces. That soft touch said more from her than the utmost _abandon_ of lovingness from another. Poor Arthur was all subdued; he could not resist her; her tenderness filled him with happiness beyond expression. If she would but be always thus, in spite of all he might have to pay for it, what man was there in the world so blessed as he? That even at this exquisite moment he had the strength of mind not to commit himself finally to the carrying out of her wish, was more than could have been expected. It was, perhaps, because “Denham” arrived at that moment to accompany them to a morning performance at the “Conservatoire,” for which his zeal had with difficulty got them tickets. They had not wanted to go, but “Denham” had insisted upon it. Nancy went away to put on her bonnet as he came upstairs. How near she had been to success! Her heart was full of confidence and pleasure in the thought, and this gave a brightness to her countenance which was all it wanted. “What have you been doing to your wife? She is radiant. She will have a great _succès_, and you and I will shine in her lustre,” said their companion to Arthur, as they arrived at the concert-rooms. How proudly Arthur looked at her, exhilarated yet subdued as she was by that delightful sense of having got, or nearly got, her own way! This happiness had taken from Nancy the look of defiant watchfulness which generally gave a sense of unrest and discomfort to her beauty. For the first time since their marriage she looked at her ease and unafraid. He was so absorbed in her that he did not see a well-known face close to him, nor dream of any interruption of his felicity until, at the first interval in the music, some one reached a fan across from another bench and tapped him on the shoulder. “Why, Arthur, Arthur! don’t you know us?” a voice said. It seemed to curdle the blood in his veins. He turned round with a sense of absolute dismay.