“Our acquaintance began by accident—under an umbrella. I met them together one night, husband and wife, leaving the little Strand Theatre in the rain. I heard him tell her that it was not worth while to take a cab, they were so near home; and something in her proud, handsome face and her contemptuous way of replying to him caught my attention and interested me in her. I offered my umbrella, and we all three walked to Essex Street together. Just in that fortuitous way began the alliance which was to give its colour to all my life. The husband cultivated my acquaintance—was glad to meet me at my club—and dined with me as often as I cared to asked him. We used to go to Essex Street after dining together, and finish the evening with her, and so by degrees I came to know all about her—that she was the only daughter of the owner of Cheriton Chase; that she was very handsome, and very clever, though only half-educated; that she had offended her father by her marriage, and that she had not brought her husband a penny; that he neglected her, and that he drank; and that she was miserable. I came to know this very soon; I came very soon to love her. She was the first woman I had ever cared for, and I loved her passionately.” He took another turn, and sighed again, regretfully, despairingly, as one who looks back upon the pallid ghost of a love that has long been dead. “It began with pity. I was so sorry for her, poor soul, her wasted life, her slighted beauty. God knows that for a long time I had no thought of sin. Gradually the yearning to see more of her, to bring some brightness and pleasure into her life, became too strong for prudence, and I persuaded her to meet me unknown to her husband. We planned little excursions, innocent enough in themselves, a morning drive and a modest luncheon at Richmond, or Greenwich, or Jack Straw’s Castle, a trip to Hampton Court or Windsor by boat or rail. She had hardly any acquaintances in London, and there was little fear of her being recognized. We went to a theatre together now and then, and sat in a dark stage box, happy, talking of an impossible future in the intervals of the performance. We never said as much, but I think we had both a vague idea that Providence would help us—that her husband would die young, and leave us free to be happy together. Yes, we were very fond of each other, very single-hearted in those days. She was only two and twenty, remember, and I was still a young man.” Another pause, another sigh, and a look across the roses, as if across the long lapse of years to an unforgotten past.