One of her suitors was a Mr. Beresford, of a family of rank and wealth. This was about all he could boast of. Disagreeable in appearance, though he was polished in all the ways and style of society, with much of the affectation of a man of the world. He was persistent in his attentions, and used all his arts of fascination, and was so obtrusive that she hated the sight of him. She knew that he was heartless, and by instinct that he was very far from being above reproach. Her parents became angry with her for throwing away such a chance of marriage into a family of name and rank. Did I not remember their anger? She defied them at first, but the incessant worry day and night continued, until from sheer exhaustion, she yielded by giving her hand but not her heart. There was a marriage of ceremony, but not of hearts or lives. He had won and there was no further need of disguise or dissimulation. He taunted her with never having cared for him; that because she was so proud and haughty he had only married her to break her in, just as he would have subdued a spirited horse. He had inherited the profligacy of his ancestors and maintained the reputation of his family by his vices. He returned at once to his dissolute life and made her, as she said, wish for her own death or his. Her parents saw, when it was too late, that they had driven their daughter to a life worse than death, for the sake of name and rank. Her only relief was when he was away with his sporting friends. One day, riding to the hounds, he was thrown from his horse and killed. He had been drinking heavily and could not sit the horse. Said she, “I could not shed a tear. That is an awful thing for a wife to say when she loses her husband, but it was impossible for me to be so false as to express even a regret, so I refused to see any one. I had never loved him nor had the least respect for him. It was a marriage only in form. I put on mourning, but that was a black lie to keep society tongues from wagging. And now as we are united again I can say frankly to you that I have often thought of the different life I would have had but for the interference of my parents.” Concluding her narrative, she said, with one of her most loving smiles, “So, Charles, I shall not keep you awake nights talking about the virtues of my first husband.” This remark was of infinite comfort to me, for I had often wondered how a man must feel after marrying a widow whose husband had been noted for his excellent traits. If she was careful not to mention them, yet he could but think at times that she was making comparisons between himself and the departed. Another thing gave me great satisfaction, that I was getting no second hand article of a heart, as hers had been always and only mine. Yet I could but feel a tinge of remorse that I had once given part of mine to another, though under necessity, as I supposed the object of my first and only real love in life had gone forever from me.